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THE 


SCULPTURE,  PAINTING,  AND  ARCHI- 
TECTURE  IN  AMERICA. 


BY 

yjMES  JACKSON  JARFES. 


THIRD  EDITION. 


NEW  YORK: 
PUBLISHED  BY  KURD  AND  HOUGHTON, 

459  BKOOMli  Stkeet. 

1866. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1864,  by 
James  Jackson  Jarves, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massa- 
chusetts. 


RIVERSIDE,  Cambridge: 

STEREOTYPED  AND  PRINTED  BY  H.  0-  HOUGHTON  AND  COMPANY. 


I  INSCRIBE 

3rM35  Itttle  ITolume 

TO  HER  WHOSE  TRUTH  AND  LOVE  COMPLETE  MY 
HAPPINESS  IN  LIFE, 

MY  WIFE. 

Boston,  April,  1864 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  1. 

PAGB 

Life  a  Self-enlarging  Sphere.  —  The  Mental  Relationship 
of  Men   1 

CHAPTER  n. 

Art-Queries.  —  Origin  and  Nature  of  Art.  — What  has  it 
done  for  us  ?  —  What  are  its  Possibilities  ?  —  What  Re- 
lation does  it  bear  to  Science  ?  —  Vagueness  of  Words. 
—  Definition  of  Art  ,   4 


CHAPTER  HI. 

The  Importance  of  Art  as  a  Teacher.  —  Liability  of  over- 
estimating it.  —  Liability  of  under-estimating  it.  —  How 
it  affects  the  Uncultivated  Mind.  —  To  be  cultivated.  — 
Its  Importance  as  a  Vehicle  of  Knowledge.  —  Its  Utility 
in  Elementary  Education.  — Relative  Nature  and  Func- 
tions of  Science  and  Art.  —  The  Dangers  of  Art.  —  The 
Chief  Obstacles  to  Science.  —  Character  of  Inspiration. 
—  Knowledge  essential  to  Art  -  Understanding.  —  In 
what  manner  Art  becomes  efficacious   10 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Art  addresses  every  Mind.  —  Nature  one  Form  of  God*s 
Teaching,  Art  another.  —  Nature  is  God's  Art.  —  Art 
as  the  Divine  Creative  Faculty  bestowed  on  Man. — 
Few  Artists,  —  many  Critics.  —  Art  has  a  Message  to 
every  Soul.  — What  is  it?  —  Why  Art-Feeling  is  dor- 
mant in  America.  —  Its  Effects  upon  first  awakening  in 


vi 


CONTENTS, 


the  Individual.  —  Effect  of  Nature  upon  Susceptible 
Temperaments.  —  The  Way  to  approach  True  Art.  — 
A  Mistake.  —  A  Confession.  —  A  Request   17 

CHAPTER  V. 

Primary  Relation  of  Art  to  Religion.  —  Priestcraft  appro- 
priates Art.  —  Origin  of  Sculpture.  Painting  at  tirst 
Subordinate.  —  Primary  Significance  of  Color.  —  The 
Rainbow  as  a  Symbol.  —  Object  of  Art  in  Egypt, — 
India,  —  China.  —  Definition  of  Spirit  and  Spiritual.  — 
Want  of  Art  among  the  Hebrews.  —  Its  Development 
in  Greece. — Gradual  Divorce  from  Sacerdotalism. — 
Final  Freedom  of  the  Artist.  —  Result   22 

CHAPTER  VI. 

Origin  of  Mythology.  —  Effect  on  Grecian  Art.  —  Its 
Emancipation  from  Egj^ptian  Art.  —  Examples.  —  The 
Egyptian  Apollo.  —  The  great  Law  of  Change  as  ap- 
plied to  Art.  —  Antagonistic  Qualities  of  Greek  and 
Egyptian  Art.  —  How  we  are  to  judge  of  Past  Art. — 
Analysis  of  the  Causes  of  the  Perfection  of  Grecian 
Art.  —  Reaction  of  Philosophy  vs.  Polytheism.  —  Gre- 
cian Faith  and  Art  perish  together.  —  Rise  of  Mono- 
theism. —  Effect  upon  Art.  —  Christianity  repeats  the 
Practice  of  Paganism.  —  Better  Seed.  —  New  Unfold- 
ings  of  Faith,  followed  by  Relapse  to  Primitive  Igno- 
rance in  Art.  —  Laws  and  Examples  of  Grecian  Art  . .  23 

CHAPTER  VII. 

Christian  Art-Motive.  —  The  Three  Phases  of  Christian 
Art.  —  Objections  to  Generalization.  —  Necessity  for.  — 
The  Protestants  of  the  Dark  Ages.  —  The  Dawning 
Phase.  —  Comparison  between  Grecian  and  Christian 
Art,  in  Character  and  Execution.  —  Examples. —  The 
Laokoon.  —  Dying  Gladiator.  —  Sensualism  of  Chris- 
tian Art.  —  Whence  derived.  —  Art-Aspect  of  Oriental 
Symbolism.  —  Dante.  —  Milton.  —  Orgagna.  —  Michel 


CONTENTS. 


vii 


Angelo.  —  Their  Works  as  Art  and  Illustrations  of  Chris- 
tian Ideas.  —  Phidias.  —  Apollo  de  Belvedere.  —  Flora 
of  Naples.  —  Torso  de  Belvedere.  —  Elgin  Marbles.  — 
Perfect  Art.  —  Bad  Art.  —  The  Demand  of  the  Present 
Age.  —  Ideal  in  Art  a  Comparative  Term.  —  Pieta  of 
Michel  Angelo.  —  Domenichino's  St.  Jerome.  —  Ra- 
phael's Transfiguration.  —  God  and  Christ  as  Art-Ob- 
jects. —  Christ  of  Michel  Angelo. —  Tenerani:  Saviour, 
Angel,  and  Descent  from  the  Cross.  —  Pagan  Ascetic 
Art.  —  The  Diogenes  of  Naples.  —  Christian  Ascetic 
Art.— The  St.  Jerome  of  Agostino  Carracci.  —  Heathen 
and  Christian  Grotesque  compared.  —  II  Penseroso. ...  46 


CHAPTER  Vm. 

The  Comparison  of  Classical  and  Christian  Art  continued. 

—  Different  Treatment  and  Love  of  Landscape.  — 
Christian  Art  excels  in  Idea  and  Comprehensiveness.  — 
Mythology  and  God  the  "  Father"  as  Art-Inspirations. 

—  Roman  Catholic  Art  tends  to  Polytheism,  —  Classical 
Philosophical  Art  to  Monotheism.  —  Art-Deities  of  the 
Roman  Church.  —  Causes  of  Image- Worship   77 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Architecture,  the  Culmination  of  Art,  is  to  Man  what 
Nature  is  to  God.  —  Nature  not  Perfect,  but  Progres- 
sive. —  Definition  of  Perfection  


CHAPTER  X. 

Analogy  between  Nature  and  Architecture,  as  the  Respec- 
tive Creations  of  God  and  Man.  —  Life-Motives  of  Na- 
tions to  be  read  in  their  Architecture.  —  Relation  of 
Art-Monuments  to  the  Religious  or  Governing  Thoughts 
in  Central  America,  Mexico,  Peru,  China,  Hindostan, 
Egypt,  Assyria.  —  The  Peculiar  Inspiration  of  the 
Earliest  Architecture.  —  Pelasgic.  —  Etruscan.  —  Gre- 
cian. —  Roman.  —Romanesque,  Lombard,  Byzantine.— 


viii 


CONTENTS, 


PAGA 

Gothic.  —  Meaning  and  Aim.  —  Defects  and  Causes.  — 
Influence  of  the  Roman  Church  over  it.  —  Renaissant 
and  Palatial  Styles   93 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Classical  and  Christian  Domestic  Art  compared.  —  Influ- 
ence of  Climate  upon  Art, —  of  Race.  —  Why  Chris- 
tianity prefers  Painting  to  Sculpture.— -Respective  Mer- 
its of  the  Two.  —  Classical  Taste  delights  in  Human 
Figure,  —  Modern  Taste,  in  Landscape.  —  The  Refor- 
mation and  Northern  Schools.  —  Protestantism  and 
Romanism  as  Art-Motives   132 


CHAPTER  XH. 

What  Protestantism  offers  to  Art.  —  Its  Scope  of  Idea, 
—  Identification  with  the  People,  —  Fashion,  —  Prom- 
ise. —  Dutch  School.  —  English  School.  —  Turner.  — 
Blake.  —  Pre-Raphaelitism.  —  The  German,  Belgian, 
and  French  Schools,  and  their  Chief  Artists  152 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

An  Inquiry  into  the  Art-Conditions  and  Prospects  of 
America.  —  Art-Criticism.  —  Press,  People,  and  Cler- 
gy. —  Needs  of  Artists  and  Public.  — American  Know- 
nothingism  in  Art.  —  Eclecticism.  —  The  True  Path . .  171 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Painting  and  the  Early  Painters  of  America. — Benja- 
min West;  Copley;  Leslie;  Trumbull;  Sully;  Peale; 
Stuart;  Mount;  Vanderlyn;  Cole;  Washington  All- 
ston  200 


CHAPTER  XV. 


The  New  School  of  American  Painting  contrasted  with 
the  Old. —  The  Dusseldorf  Element.  —  Edwin  White; 
Leutze.  —  American  Pre-Raphaelites.  —  Italian  Influ- 


CONTENTS. 


ix 


ence.  —  Tilten;  Page;  Wight;  C.  G.  Thompson.-— 
The  French-American  Element.  —  Genre  Artists.  — 
Eastman  Johnson;  Hinckley;  Beard;  Thorndike; 
Dana;  Cole;  Hunt;  La  Farge;  Babcock.  —  The  Acad- 
emicians. —  Gray ;  Huntington;  Wier.  —  Portraiture. 
—  Elliot ;  Healey ;  Ames.  —  Landscapists.  —  Church ; 
Bierstadt;  Kensett;  Gifford;  Cropsey;  Sontag;  Gi- 
noux;  Heade;  G.  L.  Brown;  Bradford;  Inness;  Dar- 
ley;  Billings;  Nast;  Vedder.  —  Naturalism,  Realism, 
and  Idealism  compared  and  illustrated.  —  Summary. .  211 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

The  American  School  of  Sculpture.     Its  Origin. — 
Greenough.  —  Modern  Motives.  —  Sculpture  as  a  Trade. 

—  Clark  Mills ;  Powers ;  Crawford ;  Dexter ;  King.  — 
Chantrey's  Washington.  —  Our  Portrait  -  Statues.  — 
Those  of  the  Ancients.  —  Randolf  Rogers.  —  The 
Gates  of  Paradise,  —  of  the  Capitol.  —  Ball ;  Brown ; 
Harriet  Hosmer;  Miss  Stebbins;  John  Rogers;  Dr. 
Rimmer;  Paul  Akers;  Palmer;  William  Story;  Ward. 

—  Conclusion   260 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

Review  of  American  Architecture,  Past  and  Present.  — 
The  Prospect  before  it.  —  Summary  of  Fundamental 
Principles   286 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

The  Art-Idea  is  the  Beautifier  of  Civilization.  —  Duty  of 
Individuals.  —  Central  Park  vs.  Harvard  College.  — 
The  Institutions  America  needs.  —  Selfishness  of  the 
American  "  Home."  —  The  Abuse  of  the  "  Family  '* 
Spirit.  —  New  York.  —  Boston.  —  Mount  Auburn.  — 
Puritan  Love  of  Beauty.  —  How  Exhibited.  —  Street- 
Cars.  —  Shop  -  Windows.  —  Manners.  —  What  Boston 
enjoys.  — What  she  has  thrown  away.  —  Conclusion. .  315 


337 


X  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

Art-Institutions  and  Art-Education  in  Europe  and  Amer- 
ica   

CHAPTER  XX. 

Review  of  the  Art-Phase  of  Civilization,  as  derived  from 
Greece  and  Judea.  —  The  Future  of  Art  based  upon 
Protestant  Freedom.  —  Quality  of  the  Artistic  Mind.  — 
Of  the  Scientific  Need  of  Art.  —  Radical  Difference  be- 
tween Science  and  Art.  —  The  Intellectual  Repose  of 
the  Scientific  Mind,  —  the  Passional  Unrest  of  the  Ar- 
tistic. —  Anal^^sis  of  Causes  and  Results.  —  What  Sci- 
ence can  do.  —  Legitimate  Sources.  —  Highest  Art.  — 
What  Cultivation  requires   354 


Appendix 


375 


THE  AET-IDEA. 


CHAPTER  L 

Life  a  Self-enlarging  Sphere.  —  The  Mental  Eelationship  of 
Men. 

IFE  may  be  likened  to  a  sphere  wliich 
includes  an  inexhaustible  series  of  circles 
of  knowledge.  In  the  beginning  we  are 
but  a  simple  point.  But  mind  having  the  power 
of  self-increase,  each  successive  experience  en- 
larges its  circumference.  Ultimately  it  may  in- 
clude within  its  grasp  all  love  and  wisdom  short 
of  Divinity. 

The  mental  processes  by  which  we  thus  en- 
large our  circles  are  worthy  of  attentive  observa- 
tion, partly  from  the  satisfaction  of  analyzing  and 
appreciating  the  mind's  growth,  but  chiefly  as 
indicative  of  the  illimitable  future  of  knowledge 
which  they  gradually  open  to  our  view,  in  the 
degree  that  we  humbly,  earnestly,  and  continuedly 
demand  to  know  the  secrets  of  Immortality. 

If  it  were  not  for  this  ever-expanding  Future 
to  tempt  us  on,  we  should  speedily  despair  of  the 
Present,  and  pronounce  it  only  vanity  and  vex- 
ation. But  the  farther  we  advance,  the  more 
power  we  comprehend  within  ourselves  ;  so  that 
1 


2 


ME. 


the  pleasure  of  learning  rests  not  so  mucli  on  that 
which  we  have  attained  to,  as  with  what  remains 
for  us  to  know.  Each  fact,  thought,  and  acquire- 
ment is  but  so  much  oil  added  to  our  lamp, 
whereby  to  diffuse  greater  light  to  our  intellect- 
ual vision.  Knowledge  becomes  teachable  and 
humble  in  proportion  to  its  advancement,  be- 
cause it  measures  all  things  in  an  increasing 
light;  while  ignorance,  believing  its  farthing 
candle  to  be  the  sun,  ever  shows  itself  vain, 
contradictory,  and  headstrong. 

Wherever  there  is  a  sincere  disposition  to 
know,  wisdom  responds  ;  but  the  dirty  work, 
the  wick-trimming  and  lamp-cleaning,  is  wisely 
left  to  ourselves.  We  must  with  our  own 
fingers  keep  our  cans  open  and  dur  torches 
burning.  In  doing  this  we  receive,  as  of  our 
own  right,  a  never-failing  supply  of  the  divine 
fuel,  whose  heat  expands  our  souls,  filling  the 
universe  with  their  presence  and  desire. 

The  several  phases  of  knowledge  are  as  clearly 
distinguishable  in  the  advancement  of  the  mind, 
with  their  relative  effects  thereon,  as  are  the 
varied  experiences  of  the  affections  in  the  growth 
of  the  heart.  But  our  progress  is  necessa- 
rily a  mixed  one.  Body  and  mind  by  turns 
coerce  one  another.  Now  soul  is  uppermost; 
then  undermost.  This  busy,  idle,  capricious,  rest- 
less, doubting,  believing,  struggling,  despairing, 
hoping,  praying  Me,  with  its  entanglement  of 
sense  and  spirit,  in  shadow  and  sunshine,  ever 
strives  to  present  to  the  world  a  self-balanced, 
imposing  I;  but  the  superficial  glance  only  can 


MENTAL  RELATIONSHIP,  5 

be  deceived  by  it.  The  clairvoyant  eye  of  expe- 
rience sees  within  the  alternate  victory  or  defeat. 
Indeed,  so  cognate  are  our  natures,  that  the  real 
life,  or  outer  sham,  of  a  fellow-being  may  prove 
to  be  the  counterpart  of  one's  self  Without  the 
universal  tie  of  humanity,  the  artist's  or  author's 
appeal  would  be  as  responseless  as  a  stringless 
harp.  In  some  form  or  other,  happiness  is  Hfe's 
common  object.  Whatever  bewilderments  beset 
its  pursuit,  all  men  instinctively  seek  it ;  the  wise 
in  the  garb  of  divine  truth,  the  foolish  in  the 
delusions  of  a  selfish  and  sensual  life.  If,  reader, 
you  are  of  the  former  class,  bear,  we  pray,  with 
the  abstract  character  of  our  remarks  for  a  while, 
until  we  have  shown  the  connection  between  the 
art-idea  and  divine  truth,  in  the  great  design  of 
civilizing  and  making  glad  the  earth.  But  if 
the  other  path  charm  you  most,  pause  here,  for 
we  do  not  wish  to  invite  an  unappreciating 
mind  into  the  sanctuary  of  Art. 

"  What  ho  !  What  tidings  have  you  for  us  ?  " 
Such  is  our  constant  cry  to  brother  and  sister  more 
advanced  in  the  search.  Cheerfully,  lovingly, 
comfortingly,  have  many  responded,  holding  out 
their  hands  to  aid  us  to  reach  their  point  of  view. 
When  there,  though  not  always  seeing  as  they 
did,  still  we  have  seen  farther  and  clearer  than 
before.  Thanks  !  many,  many  thanks  !  What  we 
have  received  it  is  a  duty  as  freely  to  give.  If, 
therefore,  we  can  aid  toiling  spirits,  even  as  ours 
has  often  been  helped,  like  harvest-seed  cast  upon 
the  Egyptian  waters,  this  labor,  in  due  time,  will 
be  returned  to  us  in  the  true  bread  of  life. 


CHAPTER  IT. 


Art-Queries.  —  Origin  and  Nature  of  Art.  —  What  has  it  done 
for  us  ?  —  What  are  its  Possibilities  V  —  What  Relation  does 
it  bear  to  Science?  —  Vagueness  of  Words.  — Definition  of 


^HAT  is  the  origin  and  nature  of  the  art- 


are  its  possibilities  ?  What  relation  does 
it  bear  to  science  ?  Such  are  some  of  the 
points  we  wish  to  suggest  thought  upon,  rather 
than  hope  to  entirely  elucidate. 

But  a  serious  difficulty  arises,  in  the  outset, 
from  the  uncertainty  of  words.  Goethe  aptly 
observes,  "  To  speak  is  to  begin  to  err."  Unless 
we  can  first  make  clear  the  exact  meaning  we 
attach  to  the  terms  applied  to  art,  any  attempt 
to  discuss  its  nature  would  be  futile,  because  we 
should  have  no  fixed  ideas  to  reason  from. 

Words,  unfortunately,  are  vague  in  the  ratio  of 
their  generalization.  Thus  art,  science,  religion, 
philosophy,  God,  and  all  other  comprehensive 
nouns,  convey  to  different  minds  conceptions  as 
various  as  their  several  moral  and  intellectual  at- 
tainments. Truth  must  indeed  remain  the  same, 
for  it  is  eternal  and  immutable ;  but  it  is  always 
relative  in  degree  to  the  individual,  being  propor- 


Art. 


What  has  it  done  for  us  ?  What 


DEFINITION  OF  ART, 


5 


tioned  to  his  intelligence  and  capacity.  Languago 
is  the  more  perplexing  because  every  grade  of 
knowledge,  and  even  temperament,  has  its  own 
formula  of  expression.  As  minds  grow,  words 
also  change  their  significance  to  them.  It  is  im- 
possible, therefore,  to  fix  upon  a  definition  of 
general  terms  so  exact  as  to  convey  precisely  the 
same  import  to  all  individuals.  The  most  any 
one  can  do  is  to  explain  as  clearly  as  possible 
what  is  meant  by  himself  in  the  use  of  an  am- 
biguous or  controvertible  word. 

Without  undertaking  here  to  define  art  pre- 
cisely, we  may  generalize  it  as  the  love  of  the 
soul  in  the  sense  that  science  can  be  considered 
its  law.  Each  is  requisite  to  the  proper  action  of 
the  other,  as  its  counter-weight  or  balance.  Art 
adorns  science.  Science  is  the  helpmeet  of  art. 
Their  action  and  interaction  are  close  and  inti- 
mate. Apart,  the  one  is  erratic,  mystic,  and  un- 
equal in  its  expression,  the  other  cold,  severe, 
and  formal ;  because  Beauty  is  the  main  prin- 
ciple of  the  former,  as  Utility  is  of  the  latter ; 
while  Truth,  of  mind  or  matter,  and  consequent 
enjoyment  or  benefit  therefrom,  is  their  common 
aim. 

A  more  popular  definition  would  be  simply  to 
call  Art  the  ornamental  side  of  life,  as  Science 
is  its  useful.  That  is,  whatever  is  produced  by 
man  in  which  beauty  is  the  predominant  feature, 
may  be  considered  as  having  its  origin  in  the 
art-idea ;  while  things  primarily  necessary  or 
useful,  although  in  a  common  sense  classified 
as  of  the  arts,  may  be  viewed  as  the  distinctive 


6 


ART-FORMS. 


expression  of  the  scientific  faculty.  We  build, 
manufacture,  classify,  investigate,  and  theorize, 
under  the  first-named  power.  It  clothes,  warms, 
feeds,  protects,  and  instructs  man,  and  is  the 
prime  agent  of  his  comfort,  material  progress, 
and  general  knowledge.  But  our  pleasure  is 
more  intimately  related  to  art  as  the  producer 
of  what  delights  the  eye  and  ear  and  adminis- 
ters to  sensuous  enjoyment. 

This  is,  however,  merely  an  external  or  super- 
ficial view  of  art  and  science,  and  has  reference 
simply  to  mundane  objects.  The  final  definition 
is  based  upon  their  connection  with  the  unseen, 
—  that  subtile  and  diviner  sense,  which,  as  it 
makes  Science  the  material  expression  or  image 
of  Wisdom,  so  it  renders  Art  the  spiritual  repre- 
sentative of  Love.  By  its  inspiration,  art  aims 
to  convey  or  suggest  ideas  and  feelings,  which, 
by  appealing  more  directly  to  the  imagination, 
lift  us  above  the  ordinary  laws  of  matter,  into 
the  world  of  spirit,  and,  as  it  were,  lets  its  light 
shine  through  upon  our  physical  senses,  so  veiled 
by  material  beauty  that  we  can  endure  its  efful- 
gence ;  or,  we  may  say,  like  pictorial  language 
to  children,  it  brings  down  the  mcomprehensible, 
by  a  species  of  incarnation,  to  the  range  of  finite 
faculties. 

Art-forms  are,  first,  the  expression  of  man's 
attempt  at  a  portraiture  of  nature,  in  its  mani- 
fold variety,  according  to  his  individual  under- 
standing thereof ;  and,  secondly,  a  reaching-forth 
after  the  possibilities  of  his  faith  and  imagina- 
tion.   In  this  latter  sense  it  is  the  instrument 


AR  T-EXPRESSION. 


7. 


of  the  spiritual  and  intellectual  creative  faculty, 
and  its  mission  is  to  foreshadow  in  matter  the 
thoughts  of  man  in  his  search  of  the  beautiful 
or  infinite.  This  is  its  Idealistic  bias,  as  the 
former  is  its  Naturalistic.  The  one  is  based 
upon  the  perceptive  and  imitative  faculties,  the 
other  upon  the  inventive  and  creative.  For  the 
first,  God  has  written  a  plain  copy  in  the  mate- 
rial creation;  and  for  the  second,  he  has  let 
into  the  soul,  as  a  window,  imagination,  through 
which  reason  catches  glimpses  of  a  nature  more 
perfect  than  that  seen  only  by  the  external  eye. 

Although  we  consider  Art-expression  as  dual- 
istic,  from  the  fact  that  nature  itself  is  divisible 
in  relation  to  art  into  two  great  divisions,  name- 
ly, that  which  is  the  fruit  of  the  external  senses 
alone,  and  that  which  is  more  particularly  the 
product  of  idea,  yet,  generically,  art-motives  are 
threefold :  — 

First :  Decoration,  or  that  which  has  for  its 
object  ornament  and  pleasure,  and  is  addressed 
chiefly  to  the  sensuous  faculties.  This  is  the 
most  common,  and  enters  largely  into  food,  cloth- 
ing, building,  manufacture,  and  polite  manners, 
in  ^nort,  everything  which,  over  and  above  abso- 
lute necessity,  gratifies  the  aesthetic  sense. 

Secondly :  Illustration,  or  that  which  has  main- 
ly reference  to  the  intellect;  teaching,  preser- 
vation, and  reminiscence  being  its  chief  aims. 
This  includes  historical,  descriptive,  and  portray- 
ing art,  and  is  based  directly  on  facts  and  natural 
truths. 

Tliirdly :  Revelation,  or  the  imaginative  side 


8 


ART  A  TjEST  of  CULTURE. 


of  art,  expressing  the  inner  life  and  its  subtile 
element,  as  inspired  by  the  rehgious  or  poetical 
faculties,  or,  under  the  control  of  a  debased 
will  and  the  inferior  passions,  revealing  the  pos- 
sibilities of  the  spirit  for  the  base  and  sensual. 

Art,  consequently,  has  varied  aspects,  accord- 
ing as  it  is  inspired  by  the  perceptive,  rational- 
istic, or  imaginative  faculties.  Although  we  find 
in  different  ages  and  artists  an  intermingling 
of  these  three  characteristics,  yet  in  general 
there  exists  a  predominance  of  one  insph-ation 
above  the  others  sufficient  to  particularize  an 
epoch,  and  permit  us  to  speak  of  it  as  the  rul- 
ing motive.  In  any  of  its  phases  art  is  simply 
a  medium  by  which  the  thought  or  feeling  of 
the  time  and  artist  is  spread  open  like  a  book, 
to  be  read  and  judged  of  all  men.  Of  itself  it 
is  neither  good  nor  evil,  but  speaks  equally 
or  mixedly  the  language  of  sense,  intellect,  or 
spirit,  as  the  will  dictates.  From  its  passivity 
it  is  a  delicate  test  of  the  moral  and  intellectual 
culture  and  inmost  life  of  all  who  employ  it ; 
because,  being  the  result,  in  material  expression, 
of  man's  aspirations,  feelings,  and  faith,  it  dis- 
closes, with  the  exactness  of  the  daguerreotype, 
the  precise  condition  of  the  individual  mind,  and 
the  general  characteristics  of  the  era  in  which 
it  has  its  being. 

Poetry,  music,  and  the  drama,  as  well  as  paint- 
ing and  sculpture,  must  be  included  in  the  generic 
term  Art,  because,  in  each,  truths  of  beauty  and 
harmony  of  form,  color,  sound,  action,  or  thought, 
are  sought  to  be  expressed  under  combinations 


WHAT  ART  IS. 


9 


the  most  pleasing  and  incentive  alike  to  our  sen- 
suous, emotional,  and  mental  faculties ;  and  we 
are  in  consequence  more  or  less  let  out  of  our- 
selves into  general  nature  or  particular  humanity, 
or  made  to  penetrate  deeper  into  the  mysteries 
of  our  own  being,  rather  tlirough  the  force  of 
sympathetic  feeling  than  of  logical  analysis. 

Therefore  whatever  has  the  power  to  thus  affect 
men,  and  is  neither  directly  derived  from  innate  or 
pure  reason  and  science,  nor  is  the  manifest  lan- 
guage of  nature  itself,  but  suggests  the  spirit, 
power,  or  presence,  alike  of  the  seen  and  unseen, 
and  yet  is  only  their  artificial  expression,  —  that 
is  Art, 


CHAPTEE  in. 


The  Importance  of  Art  as  a  Teacher.  —  Liability  of  over- 
estimating it.  —  Liability  of  under-estimating  it.  —  How  it 
affects  the  Uncultivated  Mind.  —  To  be  cultivated.  —  Its 
Importance  as  a  Vehicle  of  Knowledge.  —  Its  Utility  in 
Elementary  Education.  —  Relative  Nature  and  Functions 
of  Science  and  Art.  —  The  Dangers  of  Art.  —  The  Chief 
Obstacles  to  Science.  —  Character  of  Inspiration.  —  Knowl- 
edge essential  to  Art-Understanding.  —  In  what  Manner 
Art  becomes  Efficacious. 


|^S)INCE  art  bears  so  close  a  relationship 


'^^^^^  be  of  vital  importance  to  our  civilization. 
In  the  enthusiasm  of  a  favorite  pursuit  or  sudden 
mental  illumination  we  are  liable  to  overrate  its 
instrument,  as,  later,  when  having  entered  upon 
new  and  more  exalted  reaches  of  knowledge,  a 
tendency  to  underrate  the  previous  agencies  of 
our  progress  is  apt  to  occur.  Art  is  peculiarly 
liable  to  misconception  in  either  of  these  particu- 
lars, on  account  of  the  difficulty  of  defining  its 
limits,  and  from  its  alliance  with  feeling,  by 
whose  impulses  judgment  is  so  often  overborne 
and  justice  obscured. 

The  simple  rule  by  which  art  affects  the  unin- 
structed  mind  is  that  of  natiu*al  affinity.  To 
whatever  we  are  most  inclined  inwardly,  we  turn 


faculties,  it  follows  that  it  must 


ART-FEELING  INNATE. 


11 


with  most  satisfaction  in  its  external  expression. 
Thus  the  simple,  tender,  and  true  appreciate  most 
keenly  the  works  of  art  in  which  those  senti- 
ments are  best  manifested.  Some  turn  directly 
to  the  merely  intellectual,  in  which  art  is  made 
secondary  to  scientific  or  historical  truth;  they 
see,  with  undisguised  delight,  that  the  natm^al 
and  positive  fact  is  skilfully  represented,  and  the 
external  object  or  scene  familiarized  to  their  eye ; 
this  is  their  greatness  of  art.  A  few  only  are 
primarily  and  spontaneously  touched  by  evidences 
of  the  highest  motives  :  the  struggling  as  of  cap- 
tive spirit  to  escape  into  a  celestial  atmosphere, 
where  emotion  forgets  rule  and  becomes  sublime 
in  its  very  ignorance  of  mechanical  execution  by 
its  suggestiveness  of  noble  effort.  There  are 
minds,  however,  that  see  in  such  work  only  mat- 
ter for  ridicule  or  antipathy ;  they  turn  with  zest 
to  vulgar  imitation,  by  which  the  things  or  pas- 
sions which  please  them  most  in  the  possession 
or  exercise  are  made  obvious  to  their  sight  and 
desire. 

A  correct  appreciation  of  art  is  of  gradual 
mental  growth  and  study.  Shakspeare's  plays 
would  be  a  sealed  book  to  a  savage,  and  Beetho- 
ven's music  an  unmeaning  noise.  But  the  feeling 
for  art  is  innate  in  men,  although  widely  differing 
in  extent  and  purity.  With  all,  early  contact  with 
art  is  like  the  primary  experiences  of  infancy 
with  the  persons  about  it.  A  disposition  to  man- 
ifest the  natural  bias  of  the  character  is  the 
result.  This  tendency,  as  we  have  previously 
remarked,  necessarily  implies  a  disclosure  of  the 


12     AET  AS  A  VEHICLE  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 


inmost  likings  of  heart  and  mind.  It  is  therefore 
interesting  to  accompany  intelhgent  and  impres- 
sible individuals  on  their  first  introductions  to  the 
art-world.  Their  proclivities  often  are  as  ingenu- 
ously and  naively  developed  as  are  those  of  un- 
sophisticated savages  on  seeing  for  the  first  time 
the  gewgaws  of  the  white  man. 

The  importance  of  art  as  a  vehicle  of  knowl- 
edge is  but  imperfectly  appreciated,  because  its 
results  are  so  common.  But,  were  all  the  picto- 
rial, engraved,  or  sculptured  representations  of 
scenery,  costumes,  natural  objects,  deeds,  and  men, 
in  short,  all  that,  being  of  the  past,  we  necessarily 
could  not  see,  and  which,  of  the  present,  is  out  of 
the  range  of  our  immediate  vision,  taken  from  us, 
the  greater  part  of  history  and  of  the  surface  of 
the  globe  would  cease  to  have  to  us  a  tangible,  vi- 
talized existence.  In  the  mind's  childhood,  words 
are  but  an  imperfect  means,  as  compared  with 
form  and  color,  of  conveying  accurate  impressions 
of  actions  and  objects.  Art,  therefore,  in  its  pri- 
mary stage,  is  the  elementary  education  of  indi- 
viduals and  nations.  By  pictures  and  toys  we 
give  to  children  their  first  ideas  of  things  not  un- 
der their  own  immediate  observation.  Infancy, 
in  education,  reverses  the  rule  of  the  mature 
mind.  It  seeks  to  know  the  outside  of  objects, 
asks  first  what  a  thing  looks  like,  and  but  slowly 
learns  that  the  external,  with  all  its  infinite  vari- 
ety, is  but  the  changeable  and  transitory  image 
of  a  few  simple  principles  of  mind  and  matter, 
into  wliich  God  has  breathed  the  breath  of 
life. 


• 


WHEN  ART  IS  INFERIOR  TO  SCIENCE,  13 


In  reference  to  education,  art,  therefore,  is  ini- 
tial. The  earliest  alphabets  were  but  rude  pic- 
tures, or  symbols  of  objects  and  ideas.  Before 
man  acquires  the  faculty  of  mental  sight,  by 
which  the  artificial  signs  we  call  letters  convey 
to  him  impressions  adequate  to  the  things  they 
represent  or  to  the  thoughts  they  embody,  he 
must  have  first  learned  his  lesson  of  the  outer 
world,  both  from  nature  and  art,  or  otherwise 
words  would  be  to  him  meaningless.  Even  in 
its  higher,  not  highest  degree,  art  performs  but 
an  inferior  function,  compared  with  abstract 
science.  It  is  to  that  what  the  body  is  to  the 
spirit ;  for  it  exists  only  as  an  appeal  to  our  soul, 
through  thought  or  beauty  embodied  in  matter, 
and  therefore,  in  this  aspect,  cannot  go  beyond 
suggestion. 

Science,  apart  from  its  material  mission,  by 
which  it  seconds  art  and  descends  to  be  a  servant 
of  man,  has  still  a  nobler  purpose,  and  talks  face 
to  face  with  spirit,  disclosing  its  knowledge  direct 
to  mind  itself.  By  unfolding  the  laws  of  being 
it  carries  thought  into  the  infinite,  and  creates  an 
inward  art,  so  perfect  and  expanded  in  its  concep- 
tions that  material  objects  fashioned  by  the  ar- 
tist's hand  become  eloquent  only  as  the  feeling 
which  dictated  them  is  found  to  be  impregnated 
with,  and  expressive  of,  the  truths  of  science. 
The  mind  indignantly  rejects  as  false  all  that  the 
imagination  would  impose  upon  it  not  consistent 
with  the  great  principles  by  which  God  manifests 
himself  in  harmony  with  creation.  As  nature  is 
His  art,  so  science  is  the  progressive  disclosure 


14 


AET  AS  A  SNAEE. 


of  His  soul,  or  tliat  divine  philosophy  wliich,  in 
comprehending  all  knowledge,  must  include  art 
as  one  of  its  forms.  Hence,  in  order  that  art  be 
effectual  as  a  teacher,  it  must  be  consistent  with 
that  which  teaches  it.  Otherwise  it  falls  into 
isolated  or  inferior  truths,  and,  by  being  detached 
from  those  great  principles  which  alone  give  it 
moral  value,  it  perverts  knowledge  and  corrupts 
the  heart. 

"While  art,  therefore,  is  valuable  as  an  elemen- 
tary teacher  by  reason  of  its  alliance  with  sci- 
ence, it  particularly  exposes  man  to  seductive 
influences,  through  the  medium  of  his  senses, 
from  its  greater  affinity  for  feeling.  In  the  de- 
gree that  the  soul's  vision  is  obscured  by  carnal 
instincts,  sensation  and  reason  develop  themselves 
in  the  direction  of  external  life,  seizing  upon  that 
as  their  chief  object  of  pleasure  and  investigation, 
and  thus,  by  ignoring  the  divine  origin  and  pur- 
pose of  matter,  come  to  view  it  as  the  ultimate 
good  of  existence.  This  sensuous  proclivity  of 
art  is  its  chief  snare,  but  its  force  depends  upon 
the  tendency  of  human  will.  The  chief  obstacle 
to  science  is  its  inexorable  demand  upon  pure 
reason,  which  implies  the  labor  of  thought ;  for 
the  exercise  of  the  mind  is  as  necessary  for  its 
growth  as  is  that  of  the  hands  for  the  cultivation 
of  the  field.  If  art  or  science  recognize  the 
spirit's  integuments  as  the  sole  objective  reality 
of  life,  corruption  and  falsehood  are  certain  to 
ensue.  We  cannot  know  or  possess  unless  we 
work,  not  in  pride  or  despair,  but  in  faith  that 
as  w^e  plant  so  shall  we  reap.    On  the  other 


THE  OFFICE  OF  WILL, 


15 


hand,  in  viewing  forms  simply  as  the  incrustation 
of  spirit,  and  in  subjecting  the  outer  to  the  imier 
life,  we  more  nearly  approach  the  sources  of 
beauty  and  truth. 

In  one  sense,  all  truth  comes  of  suggestion; 
so,  in  the  same  sense,  does  all  falsehood.  In  the 
one  instance  we  call  it  inspiration ;  in  the  other, 
temptation.  But  whence  and  how  thoughts  and 
ideas  come  and  go,  no  man  can  tell.  There 
is  an  impenetrable  barrier  to  finite  faculties. 
Yet  those  laws  of  being  which  to  earthly  senses 
are  obscure  and  indefinable,  will,  in  the  greater 
light  of  future  life,  become  as  clear  and  intelli- 
gible as  gravitation  or  numbers  are  now.  It  is 
in  vain,  therefore,  to  seek  to  define  how  we 
think,  or  become  conscious.  We  can  hope  to 
discover  the  principles  and  laws  of  all  thmgs 
connected  with  our  present  being,  except  the 
cause  of  being  itself,  which  all  mankind  spon- 
taneously resolve  into  the  indefinable  proposi- 
tion, God.  On  this  all  must  rest.  But,  while 
the  essence  of  life  is  so  mysterious  that  even 
Jesus  compared  it  to  the  wind,  —  whence  it 
Cometh,  and  whither  it  goeth,  no  man  being  able 
to  tell,  —  yet  it  is  palpable  to  the  humblest 
understanding  that  the  quality  and  direction  of 
its  thoughts  depend  upon  the  will.  God  does 
not  force  himself  upon  reluctant  minds,  or  over- 
charge their  faculties  with  ideas  disproportioned 
to  their  powers ;  but,  as  they  labor  for  good  or 
evil,  so  come  thoughts  and  feelings  correspond- 
ing to  their  desires  ;  as  one  flower  attracts  from 
the  atmosphere  the  sweetest  of  odors,  while  an- 


16 


ROW  MIND  IS  INSPIRED. 


other  collects  the  foulest.  Thus  it  is  that  we  are 
inspired.  Our  minds  receive  from  the  unseen 
a  spiritual  nutriment,  which  strengthens  them  in 
the  direction  they  would  grow.  With  some  in- 
dividuals, cultivation  regulates  its  pace ;  thought 
comes  orderly,  and  is  systematically  progressive. 
These  are  our  sages  and  men  of  science.  With 
others,  it  springs  up  in  strange  exuberance,  flash- 
ing tropical  colors  from  way-side  seeds,  burning, 
scintillating,  and  startling  by  its  sudden  and  un- 
equal fires ;  great  truths  amid  rank  weeds ;  a 
wilderness  of  chaotic  beauty  and  noble  forms. 
Out  of  such  inspiration  speaks  the  artist,  poet, 
and  seer. 

While  art  should  partake  of  the  character  of 
inspiration,  free,  earnest,  and  high-toned,  embody- 
ing the  feeling  which  gives  it  birth,  its  forms 
should  exhibit  a  scientific  correctness  in  every 
particular,  and,  as  a  unity,  be  expressive  of  the 
general  principle  at  its  centre  of  being.  In  this 
manner  feeling  and  reason  are  reconciled,  and  a 
complete  and  harmonious  whole  is  obtained.  In 
the  degree  that  this  union  obtains  in  art  its 
works  become  efficacious,  because  embodying, 
under  the  garb  of  beauty,  the  most  of  truth. 


CHAPTER  lY. 


Art  addresses  every  Mind.  —  Nature  one  Form  of  God's 
Teaching,  Art  another.  —  Nature  is  God's  Art. —  Art  as 
the  Divine  Creative  Faculty  bestowed  on  Man.  —  Few  Ar- 
tists, —  many  Critics.  —  Art  has  a  Message  to  every  Soul. 

—  What  is  it  ?  —  Why  Art-Feeling  is  dormant  in  America. 

—  Its  Effects  upon  first  awakening  in  the  Individual. — 
Effect  of  Nature  upon  Susceptible  Temperaments.  —  The 
Way  to  approach  True  Art.  —  A  Mistake.  —  A  Confession. 
— A  Request. 

^^i^RT  being  so  important  an  element  in  edu- 
^  cation,  it  must  necessarily  exercise  a  cor- 
^^^^  responding  influence  over  a  mind  in  con- 
tact with  it.  The  natural  world  presents  one 
form  of  divine  teaching,  and  art  another.  Both, 
we  repeat,  are  the  incarnation  of  spirit  in  form. 
The  first  is  the  direct  sculpture,  painting,  music, 
and  poetry  of  God  himself;  the  second  is  the 
material  given  to  man,  with  the  power  of  commu- 
nicating, through  the  agency  of  his  hands,  sugges- 
tions of  his  own  nature,  the  universe,  and  their 
joint  Creator.  By  the  exercise  of  this  indirect 
creative  faculty  the  artist  partakes  of  a  divine 
function,  insomuch  as  Divinity  delegates  to  him 
the  infinite  talent  by  which  he  represents  the 
creative  principle,  and,  by  its  stimulus,  is  trained 
ibr  a  loftier  being. 

2 


18 


GREAT  ARTISTS  RARE. 


But  few  men  possess  the  ability  to  communi- 
cate manually  the  evidence  of  a  divine  embassy. 
All,  however,  have  more  or  less  discerning  pow- 
er, and  hence  are  correspondingly  able  to  re- 
ceive, and  sit  in  judgment  upon,  its  credentials. 
Great  artists  are,  of  consequence,  rare,  while 
competent  critics  are  not  infrequent.  As  art- 
feeling  is  innate  in  all  men,  though  widely  differ- 
ing in  degree,  art  must  have  a  message  for  every 
one  brought  witliin  its  reach. 

What  has  been  that  message  to  you  ?  to  us  ? 

The  first  picture  that  we  can  recall  was  a 
"  Coronation  of  Napoleon  I., "  which  we  saw 
when  eight  years  of  age.  Our  first  impression 
was  of  wonder  how  a  flat  surface  could  be  made 
to  present  such  an  appearance  of  projected  fig- 
ures, and  the  impulse  was  to  approach  the  can- 
vas to  detect  the  mechanical  means  by  which  it 
was  produced.  When  satisfied  that  it  was  veri- 
table painting,  the  story  absorbed  our  attention, 
and  we  took  our  first  vivid  lesson  in  history. 

In  America  the  art-feeling  necessarily  remains 
in  a  great  degree  dormant,  from  lack  of  its  objects. 
Hence,  when  Americans  are  first  introduced  into 
the  world  of  art  of  Europe,  their  feeling  being 
suddenly  aroused  without  the  counterpoise  of  a 
ripened  judgment,  they  are  blinded  by  excess  of 
light,  and  manifest  their  tastes  and  predilections 
much  after  the  capricious  manner  in  wliich  chil- 
dren express  their  wonder  and  desire  upon  their 
earliest  entrance  into  a  toy-shop.  But  their  in- 
discriminate rapture  or  aversion  gradually  sub- 
sides into  an  intelligent  perception  of  art-motives, 


FIRST  EXPERIENCE. 


19 


and  an  earnest  inquisition  into  its  principles ;  for 
no  people  are  more  eager  in  the  exploration  of  the 
unknown,  as  its  horizon  bursts  upon  their  vision. 

Our  first  great  experience  was  the  Louvre  gal- 
lery. Wandering  through  its  interminable  ranges 
of  pictures,  or  lost  in  its  vast  halls  of  statuary, 
we  became  oppressed,  confused,  uncertain,  and 
feverish  ;  filled  with  unaccountable  likes  and  dis- 
likes ; ,  passing,  in  a  convulsive  effort  to  main- 
tain mental  equilibrium,  sweeping  censures  upon 
whole  schools,  and  eulogizing  others  as  foolishly ; 
hurrying  from  one  object  to  another  with  de- 
lirious rapidity,  as  if  the  whole  were  a  bubble, 
ready  to  burst  at  any  moment;  until,  with  a 
weary,  addled  brain,  but  unmoved  heart,  we 
gladly  escaped  into  the  outer  air  for  breath.  Our 
puny  self  was  crushed  by  the  weight  and  variety 
of  the  intellect  incarnated  within  those  walls. 
With  nature  on  every  scale  we  had  long  been 
at  home  in  various  quarters  of  the  globe.  Her 
scenes  had  always  brought  delight  and  repose.  If 
new  and  overwhelming,  they  indeed  crowd  emo- 
tion into  a  thrill  of  joy,  or  a  gush  of  tearful  pas- 
sion ;  but  it  is  an  excitement  that  soothes,  and 
leaves  the  beholder  wiser,  happier,  and  better, 
if  there  be  in  him  any  affinity  with  the  great 
soul  of  the  universe.  Mrs.  Browning  once  told 
us,  that,  upon  reaching  the  summit  of  Mount 
Saint  Gothard,  she  was  constrained,  by  the  force 
of  the  mountain  gloom  and  glory,  instantly  to  weep. 
All  persons  whose  hearts  are  not  made  callous  by 
ignorance,  vice,  or  familiarity,  are  keenly  suscep- 
tible to  the  eloquence  of  nature. 


20 


MISTAKES  OF  JUDGMENT, 


The  first  interview  with  true  art  produces  a 
movement  of  the  soul  scarcely  less  spontaneous 
and  deep,  when  we  abandon  ourselves  with  equal 
confidence  to  its  influence.  But  if,  in  mental 
pride,  we  refuse  to  test  its  power  over  our  hearts 
before  we  have  canvassed  its  claims  in  the  light 
of  an  uneducated  understanding,  confusion  and 
folly  are  sure  to  follow.  In  beginning  with  art 
let  us  walk  humbly.  Like  nature,  it  primarily 
addresses  itself  to  the  emotions.  Set  aside  criti- 
cism, therefore,  until  we  have  learned  something 
of  ourselves  through  the  language  that  moves  us. 
To  be  a  critic  before  we  are  a  scholar  is  both 
rash  and  silly.  And,  indeed,  in  learning  to  judge 
of  art,  it  is  better  to  seek  for  beauties  and  recog- 
nize merits  before  aiming  to  discover  defects  and 
shortcomings.  The  foundation  of  art-apprecia- 
tion must  be  developed  from  within.  After  that 
comes  the  time  to  inquire,  analyze,  and  theorize. 
We  rushed  too  self-confidently  into  an  unknown 
sphere,  and  got  well  brain-pummelled  for  our 
conceit. 

A  series  of  mistakes  gradually  led  us  towards 
the  right  road.  "We  have  begun  to  get  more 
correct  views  of  art.  They  are  not  its  highest 
or  deepest ;  but  they  are  our  highest  and  deepest 
of  to-day,  and,  in  comparison  with  earlier  ones, 
wise.  We  offer  them,  because  there  are  some 
minds  treading  the  paths  that  we  have  trod,  to 
whom  our  experience  may  shorten  the  way ; 
while  to  those  in  advance  beseechingly  do  we 
cry.  Give,  give !  even  as  we  seek  to  give  !  Stoop 
your  flight  to  ours,  even  as  by  these  confessions 


GIVE,  GIVE! 


21 


we  try  to  measure  for  others  the  first  weary  steps 
of  progress  with  sometimes  sad,  often  disappoint- 
ing, and  yet  never  wholly  joyless,  mile-stones. 
So  shall  wisdom,  from  its  unselfish  use,  be  largely 
meted  out  to  you  again  by  the  great  Giver ! 


CHAPTER  Y. 


Primary  Relation  of  Art  to  Religion.  —  Priestcraft  appropri- 
ates Art.  —  Origin  of  Sculpture.  —  Painting  at  first  Subor- 
dinate.—  Primary  Significance  of  Color.  —  The  Rainbow 
as  a  Symbol.  —  Object  of  Art  in  Egypt,  —  India,  —  China. 

—  Definition  of  Spirit  and  Spiritual.  —  Want  of  Art  among 
the  Hebrews.  —  Its  Development  in  Greece.  —  Gradual  Di- 
vorce from  Sacerdotalism.  —  Final  Freedom  of  the  Artist. 

—  Result. 

^^"©IGHTLY  to  understand  art,  we  must 
(il^s^  ascertain  its  governing  notions,  in  its 
several  phases  of  national  or  individual 
development.  So  intimately  associated  is  it  with 
religion,  in  all  incipient  civilization,  that  it  be- 
comes difficult  to  speak  of  it  otherwise  than  under 
that  head.  Both  sentiments  are  innate  in  the 
human  mind,  and  each,  in  its  beginning,  develops 
itself  chiefly  through  feeling.  But  the  latter, 
being  the  more  powerful  and  comprehensive, 
makes  at  first  of  the  former  a  mere  instrument  to 
express  its  ideas,  in  the  form  either  of  symbols,  or 
images  of  the  celestial  powers  that  the  untutored 
imagination  conceives  as  presiding  over  the  des- 
tinies of  men.  Hence  early  art  is  always  found 
subordinate  to  the  religious  sentiment,  which  it 
seeks  to  typify  with  but  little  regard  to  the  aes- 
thetic principle  of  its  own  bemg.     Only  as  it 


RELATION  OF  ART  TO  RELIGION,  23 

escapes  from  vassalage  to  priestcraft  does  it  assert 
its  proper  dignity  and  beauty. 

By  priestcraft  we  refer  to  those  crude  notions 
of  divinity  which  obtain  among  all  men  in  their 
first  essays  to  comprehend  God,  and  which  be- 
come more  obscure  or  material  through  the  mis- 
taken and  selfish  policy  of  priests,  in  invariably 
clothing  their  superior  knowledge  in  the  guise 
of  sacred  mysteries.  To  perpetuate  their  influ- 
ence, they  deem  it  necessary  to  present  to  the  peo- 
ple some  visible  embodiment  of  their  doctrines. 
Among  the  first  symbols  of  Deity  were  the  most 
common  natural  objects,  such  as  trees  and  stones. 
A  desire  to  personify  in  material  form  the  unseen 
life  or  intelligence  which  governs  the  world, 
combined  with  the  feeling  for  the  beautiful,  un- 
doubtedly gave  rise  to  sculpture.  Painting  was 
at  first  a  mere  accessory  to  it.  Indeed,  color  had 
for  ages  a  greater  typical  than  ornamental  signifi- 
cance ;  and  even  now,  in  many  minds,  it  finds 
noblest  appreciation  from  a  lovely  chord  of  sym- 
bolism of  the  glories  and  virtues  of  the  celestial 
world,  and  its  letting  down  for  finite  enjoyment 
a  portion  of  the  infinite,  subdued  to  the  standard 
of  our  feeling  and  comprehension,  which,  as  in 
the  rainbow,  remains  to  earth  in  all  time  a  living 
hope  and  joy. 

In  those  earliest  seats  of  civilization,  Egypt 
and  India,  the  sacerdotal  influence  was  long  the 
governing  one.  Consequently,  the  artistic  feel- 
ing was  overborne  by  the  theological,  and  their 
art  was  soon  petrified  into  a  rigid  and  fixed  ex- 
pression of  metaphysical  ideas,  giving  to  their 


24 


ART  A  REVELATION  OF  SPIRIT. 


idols  forms  as  unchangeable  and  enigmatical  as 
their  enigmatical  conceptions  of  nature.  India 
still  retains  her  elaborate,  symbolical  art,  —  a 
personification  of  her  religious  philosophy  to  the 
initiated,  but  to  the  masses  presenting  a  worship 
scarcely  one  degree  removed  from  gross  feti- 
chism.  In  China  the  spiritual  life  is  still  more 
absorbed  in  the  material.  In  these  countries, 
embracing  nearly  one  half  the  human  race,  art, 
having  been  made  a  slave,  has  avenged  its  degra- 
dation by  presenting  falsehood  for  truth,  perpet- 
uating error,  and  barring  progress.  The  art  of  a 
nation  is  at  once  its  creed  and  catechism.  We 
need  no  other  literature  to  reveal  its  mental  con- 
dition than  the  objects  of  its  religious  belief  or 
sensuous  delight.  With  this  key  to  the  soul  in 
hand,  the  comparative  intelligence  and  progress 
of  races  are  easily  unlocked.  Without  the  aid 
of  a  false  and  immovable  art,  as  the  easily  under- 
stood substitute  of  printing,  it  is  scarcely  conceiv- 
able that  the  popular  mind  should  have  remained 
as  immovable  as  it  has  in  the  East.  Wherever 
art  is  thus  circumscribed  we  find  a  similar  result. 
The  object  itself  takes  precedence  of  the  idea, 
and  becomes  an  idol.  Worship  is  replaced  by 
superstition,  so  that  art  is  presented  either  as  a 
mummified  dogma,  or  in  grotesque,  mystical,  and 
unnatural  shapes,  and  barbarous  displays  of  color, 
corresponding  to  the  false  and  sensual  theology 
which  inspires  it. 

The  Hebrew  legislators  fell  into  the  opposite 
extreme  to  the  Hindoos,  and,  from  their  reluc- 
tance to  attempt  to  embody  their  notions  of  divine 


GRECIAN  SYMBOLISM, 


25 


things,  quenched  the  artistic  spirit  of  their  peo- 
ple so  completely  that  even  for  the  decorations 
and  symbols  of  the  temple  Solomon  was  obliged 
to  apply  to  the  Tyrians,  —  who  were  themselves 
by  no  means  an  artistic  people,  —  as  did,  later, 
Herod  to  the  Greeks,  when  he  adorned  it  to  its 
utmost  magnificence.  Yet  the  Jews  allowed  a 
certain  scope  for  art  in  their  religious  architec- 
ture, and  the  objects  used  in  their  ritual,  which 
was  in  later  times  wholly  repudiated  by  the  fa- 
natical excess  to  which  the  Puritans  and  Quakers 
carried  the  proscription  of  idolatry  by  Moses, 
making  it  to  apply  to  all  art.  By  them  life 
itself  was  deprived  of  half  its  legitimate  happi- 
ness, while  among  the  idolatrous  Orientals  art 
became  a  perverter  of  the  soul  on  account  of  its 
divorce  from  intellectual  freedom. 

It  is  to  Greece  that  we  must  look  for  the  first 
development  of  true  art.  That  country  was,  in- 
deed, not  without  its  symbolical  creations  which 
resembled  nothing  on  the  earth,  whatever  the 
theological  imagination  might  conceive  as  exist- 
ing in  the  heavens,  or  as  necessary  to  represent 
metaphysical  mysteries.  Many  of  its  figures  were 
as  strange  and  graceless  as  the  extraordinary 
emblematic  art  of  India.  Diana  of  Ephesus  was 
a  female  monster.  Grecian  chimeras,  and  three- 
eyed,  double-headed,  and  hundred-armed  statues, 
were  analogous  to  Oriental  image  -  mysticism. 
But  in  its  fauns,  satyrs,  nereids,  and  kindred 
imaginative  beings,  originating  out  of  the  pan- 
theistic element  of  its  faith,  we  find  the  growing 
ascendency  of  the  natural  and  beautiful  holding 


26 


THE  AIM  OF  GREEK  ART, 


the  symbolical  in  subjection,  until,  in  the  best 
examples  of  the  Grecian  chisel  which  have  de- 
scended to  our  day,  we  perceive  art  not  only 
to  be  wholly  emancipated  from  priestly  servi- 
tude, but,  through  its  inherent  intellectual  force, 
or,  more  strictly  speaking,  genius,  to  have  won 
for  itself  the  position  of  teacher.  Art  and 
religion  were  indeed,  in  one  sense,  identical ; 
but  the  mind  was  unshackled,  and  left  to  its 
normal  action.  Thus  the  poets  and  artists  of 
Greece,  instead  of  being  made  the  mouth-pieces 
and  artisans  of  a  formal  faith,  became  the 
creators  of  a  more  beautiful,  refined,  and  natural 
mythology,  by  which  the  sculptured  gods,  while 
emblematic  to  the  philosophic  mind  of  the  high- 
est possibilities  of  nature  and  humanity,  were 
brought  home  to  the  sympathies  and  thoughts  of 
the  people.  The  word  was  indeed  made  flesh, 
though  in  a  sensuous,  sesthetic  sense,  inferior 
by  far  to  the  Christ-love  which  descended  later 
upon  men,  to  elevate  them  to  a  still  higher  phase 
of  life,  but  superior  to  the  religious  notions 
which  had  heretofore  governed  the  world.  Gre- 
cian art  became,  therefore,  a  joint  revelation  of 
the  emancipated  intellect  and  imagination,  in- 
spired by  the  beautiful  to  deify  the  natural  man 
by  making  him  the  pivot  upon  which  God  and 
nature  turned.  An  exaggerated  standard  of  the 
intellectual  and  physical  powers  and  passions, 
aiming  at  the  god  like  in  expression  by  the  elimi- 
nation of  material  weakness  and  all  signs  of  im- 
perfection, or  a  personification  of  natural  phe- 
nomena and  of  the  thought  and  feeling  suggested 


THE  RESULT. 


27 


by  their  action,  taking  the  guise  of  poetry  and 
embodied  by  art,  —  not,  as  in  India,  in  a  gro- 
tesque accumulation  of  the  unnatural  and  purely 
symbolical,  but  in  shapes  drawn  from  the  visible 
creation,  idealized  into  the  highest  beauty  of 
form  and  meaning  the  imagination  could  con- 
ceive, and  approved  by  science,  because  analogous 
to  and  founded  upon  the  visible  examples  of  na- 
ture ;  —  such  were  the  mythology  and  art  of 
Greece. 


Origin  of  Mythology.  —  Effect  on  Grecian  Art.  —  Its  Emanci- 
pation from  Egyptian  Art.  —  Examples.  —  The  Egyptian 
Apollo.  —  The  great  Law  of  Change  as  applied  to  Art.  — 
Antagonistic  Qualities  of  Greek  and  Egyptian  Art.  —  How 
we  are  to  judge  of  Past  Art.  —  Analysis  of  the  Causes  of 
the  Perfection  of  Grecian  Art.  —  Reaction  of  Philosophy  vs. 
Potytheism.  —  Grecian  Faith  and  Art  perish  together.  — 
Rise  of  Monotheism.  —  Effect  upon  Art.  —  Christianity  re- 
peats the  Practice  of  Paganism.  —  Better  Seed.  —  New  Un- 
foldings  of  Faith,  followed  by  Relapse  to  Primitive  Igno- 
rance in  Art.  —  Laws  and  Examples  of  Grecian  Art. 

HE  foundation  of  the  earliest  religions 
was  either  in  external  nature,  the  effect 
suggesting  a  cause,  or  in  the  mind  of  man 
himself,  repeating,  as  it  were,  his  own  sensuous- 
ness  or  intellectual  force  in  superhuman  shapes. 
Both  these  causes  tended  to  the  development  of 
a  prolific  mythology.  So  fixed  in  a  mental  child- 
hood is  the  disposition  to  personify  the  objects  of 
belief,  that  even  the  Jews  themselves  were  very 
far  from  reposing  in  absolute  monotheism.  They 
were  the  Puritans  of  antiquity  ;  as  the  Egyptians 
may  be  said  to  have  shown,  in  their  priestly  as- 
sumption, flexibility  of  action,  and  unchangeable- 
ness  of  dogma,  the  likeness  of  Romanism ;  while 


BEAUTY  THE  INSPIRER. 


29 


the  Greeks  more  resembled  those  modern  nations 
wliich  have  thrown  off  priestcraft.  Inspired  by 
love  of  philosophy,  they  opened  up  their  minds 
to  the  widest  ranges  of  thought  and  poetry,  and, 
borrowing  from  the  learning  and  experience  of  all 
nations,  culminated  their  wisdom  in  Aristotle 
and  Plato,  and  their  art  in  Phidias  and  Apelles. 

Although  beauty  was  the  inspiration  of  Greek 
art,  it  was  not  left  to  the  dubious  direction  of 
mere  feeling,  but  subjected  so  skilfully  to  the 
acutest  rules  of  science,  that  their  best  sculpture 
makes  us  forget  art  by  its  seeming  naturalness. 
Whether  their  painting  was  equally  advanced 
with  their  statuary  still  remains  a  mooted  ques- 
tion ;  but  we  may  be  assured,  that,  so  far  as  it 
went,  it  was  subjected  to  similar  rules. 

That  the  beauty  and  freedom  of  Greek  art 
were  emphatically  due  to  the  genius  of  the 
nation  itself  is  amply  proved  by  the  earliest  spe- 
cimens of  their  sculpture.  One  of  the  most  re- 
markable of  these  is  the  bas-relief  of  Leucotea, 
Bacchus  and  Ninfe,  of  the  Villa  Albani,  at 
Kome.  In  it  we  see  the  dawning  emancipation 
of  Greek  from  Egyptian  art,  showing,  by  the 
greater  freedom  of  treatment,  an  attempt  to 
adapt  the  still  rigid  attitudes,  bound  limbs,  mas- 
sive and  imposmg  formalism  of  the  latter,  —  which 
can  be  properly  expressed  only  by  the  kindred 
qualities  of  granite,  porphyry,  and  other  adaman- 
tine rocks,  and  owes  its  character  as  much  to 
their  color  as  to  form,  —  to  the  more  perfect  uses 
of  marble,  and  the  natural  suggestiveness  of  that 
more  flexible  material  for  greater  liberty,  a  nicer 


30 


EGYPTIAN  FORMALISM, 


sense  of  beauty,  and  a  more  refined  expression. 
In  striking  contrast  with  this  beginning  of  Greek 
art  upon  the  rules  and  practice  of  the  Egyptian, 
thus  declaring  its  derivative  origin,  is  the  exam- 
ple of  the  later  reflex  influence  of  the  former 
upon  the  latter  in  the  Egyptian  Apollo  of  the 
Vatican,  which  combines,  in  the  most  harmoni- 
ous degree,  while  retaining  the  main  characteris- 
tics of  each,  the  motives  and  excellence  of  either 
school.  The  god  now  walks,  —  or,  rather,  can, 
if  he  see  fit,  —  for  his  legs  are  at  liberty,  and 
yet  retains  the  severe  majesty,  grandem*,  and  sim- 
plicity of  his  Egyptian  temperament,  exhibiting 
a  superhuman  strength  and  firmness  of  body  and 
character,  united  to  the  Grecian  purity  and  re- 
finement of  form,  material,  and  expression. 

By  the  force  of  his  artistic  liberty  and  more 
correct  appreciation  of  man  as  his  highest  type, 
the  Greek  artist  had  thoroughly  freed  himself 
from  the  dogmatic  formalism  and  rigidity  of  Egyp- 
tian art.  In  taking  away  its  prominent  charac- 
teristics of  painful  endurance,  passivity  of  inert 
strength,  preponderance  of  matter  in  size  and 
weight,  stereotyped  posture  and  expression,  he 
not  only  emancipated  art  from  prescribed  forms 
and  the  dictation  of  priests,  but  also  endowed  it 
with  individual  liberty  of  thought  and  workman- 
ship. Egyptian  artists  were  accounted  as  arti- 
sans or  image-cutters  of  the  lowest  castes,  and 
their  craft  by  law  descended  from  father  to  son. 
Yet,  as  a  whole,  the  art  of  Egypt  atoned  in  large 
degree  for  its  want  of  freedom  of  progress  by  the 
mysterious  sublimity  of  character  arising  from  the 


SPIRIT  OF  EGYPTIAN  ART,  81 

nature  of  the  material  and  its  broad  and  majestic 
treatment.  Doubtless  the  Egyptian  idol  was  shorn, 
in  the  popular  national  mind,  of  the  strength  of 
its  divinity  by  the  innovations  of  Grecian  origin ; 
but,  to  the  more  cultivated  race,  Apollo  had 
emerged  from  the  bondage  of  the  land  of  Egypt, 
and  walked  forth  truly  a  god. 

The  spirit  of  Egyptian  art  was  from  theologi- 
cal necessity  formal  and  unvaried ;  of  the  Greek, 
free  and  changeable.  Consequently,  while  the 
one  allowed  no  motion  to  its  artistic  creations, 
but  rested  hope  and  faith  on  the  passive  and  pet- 
rified sublimity  of  its  sacred  images,  the  other 
delighted  in  joyous,  sensuous  life,  and  brooked 
no  restraint  upon  the  will  or  actions  of  its  divin- 
ities, for  what  was  happiness  and  possibility  to 
them  was  likewise  joy  and  possibility  for  human- 
ity, only  in  an  inferior  degree.  It  is  therefore 
instructive  to  compare,  in  their  respective  sculp- 
ture, the  antagonistic  qualities  of  their  religions, 
and  to  trace  the  mutual  influence  of  parent  and 
child,  —  for  much  of  the  civilization  of  Greece 
may  be  said,  in  its  incipiency,  to  bear  that  rela- 
tion to  Egypt,  —  and  then  to  contrast  both  with 
early  Etruscan  sculpture,  and  note  how  distinct 
and  independent  in  its  origin  and  feeling  the  last 
seems  from  the  other  two,  aiming  at  the  natural 
and  vigorous,  but  lacking  the  more  beautiful  in- 
spiration of  the  Greek  mind,  although  finally 
overborne  by  it. 

Every  phase  of  existence  contains  within  itself 
its  seeds  of  destruction,  or,  more  strictly  speak- 
ing, change,  by  which  a  higher  condition  of  life 


32 


SPIRIT  OF  GREEK  ART. 


is  ultimately  evolved  out  of  the  lower.  Ideas 
and  manners  go  through  as  natural  a  process 
of  growth,  decay,  and  renewal  in  new  forms,  as 
does  the  vegetable  creation.  Nature,  having  done 
with  one  class  of  thoughts  or  things,  never 
recalls  their  existence.  Their  uses  perish  with 
their  non-necessity.  We  could/as  successfully  re- 
vive a  race  of  behemoths  or  ichthyosauri  as  a 
defunct  faith,  or  arrest  the  course  of  a  star  as 
easily  as  summon  back  an  obsolete  feeling. 

This  inexorable  law  should  be  kept  in  view  in 
judging  of  past  art.  It  is  impossible  for  the 
moderns  to  look  upon  it  with  the  same  tone  of 
mind  as  its  contemporaries.  To  them  it  was 
both  belief  and  beauty.  The  former  we  can  ap- 
preciate only  as  we  disinter  fossils,  to  inform  our 
intellect  of  past  facts  as  the  predecessors  of  pres- 
ent; but  of  the  degree  of  the  latter,  its  rules 
being  unchangeable,  all  time  is  qualified  to  judge, 
if  it  but  ascertain  them.  Hence  it  is  that  an- 
cient, and  indeed  all  art  not  based  on  our  own 
plane  of  feeling  and  faith,  necessarily  loses  its 
primary  significance,  and  reaches  us  only  at  sec- 
ond-hand. Our  understanding,  either  under  the 
persuasion  of  conventional  taste  or  sound  culti- 
vation, must  first  approve  before  we  praise  it ; 
while  all  art  that  lives  to  us  first  influences  us 
through  our  sympathies  or  desires. 

Greek  art  is  in  so  great  a  degree  an  aesthetic 
idealization  of  the  higher  faculties  of  man  as  the 
climax  of  nature  and  seed  of  divinity,  every  man 
having  latent  within  him  the  capacity  of  a  god, 
that  even  its  fragments  continue  to  be  viewed  as 


ITS  PRINCIPLE  PANTHEISM,  33 

the  noblest  specimens  of  true  art  yet  produced. 
By  this  we  mean  art  as  divested  of  other  motive 
than  its  own  laws  of  being.  The  religion  out  of 
which  it  sprung  is  forever  dead.  Consequently, 
ours  is  not  a  front,  but  a  back  view.  We  prize 
it  not  so  much  in  relation  to  the  embodied  idea, 
which  only  scholars  can  correctly  appreciate,  as 
from  its  broader  relation  to  common  humanity  and 
the  universal  laws  of  nature.  Tried  by  this 
standard,  we  find  it  complete  and  consistent,  so 
far  as  it  goes.  And,  further,  as  we  come  to  un- 
derstand its  latent  religious  motive,  it  appears  so 
harmonious  and  beautiful  that  its  witchery  well- 
nigh  carries  us  mentally  back  to  the  era  when  it 
peopled  the  earth  with  its  sacred  images.  If  we 
cannot  believe  with  those  subtile  imaginations 
which  divided  nature  into  numberless  divinities, 
or  raise  our  own  to  that  poetical  height  which, 
through  ingenious  and  often  sublime  fables  and 
myths,  recognized  in  its  phenomena,  or  brought 
home  to  their  hearts,  great  moral  as  well  as  phys- 
ical laws,  still  we  can  sympathize  with  the  feel- 
ing that  led  them  to  see  divinity  in  nature,  and 
devote  their  wealth  of  mind  and  substance  to 
making  the  Unseen  appreciable  and  effectual  to 
all  men. 

The  Greek  artist  wrought  in  accordance  with 
pantheism,  stimulated  by  religious  fervor  and 
intellectual  activity  of  aesthetic  desire.  In  the 
progress  of  mind  there  sprung  up  a  reaction  of 
philosophy,  which,  by  reversing  the  popular  sight, 
saw  in  symbols  and  dogmas  only  the  particular 
livery  of  transitory  ideas,  and  sought  by  the  path 
3 


34  JUDEA  OVERCOMES  GREECE, 


of  infidelity  to  gradually  find  its  way  to  higher 
truths.  But  the  philosophic  mind  in  no  age  rep- 
resents the  common  actual ;  it  simply  announces 
its  possibilities  and  future  proclivities.  There- 
fore, in  generalizing  epochs,  we  must  take  the 
common  mind  as  the  great  fact,  however  often 
exceptional  minds  shine  forth  like  light-houses 
over  the  benighted  ocean  of  popular  opinion. 
The  religious  and  civil  life  of  Greece  was  the 
ultimate  of  progress  which  it  was  possible  to 
evolve  from  merely  sensuous  and  pantheistic 
principles.  But  the  development  of  its  free 
thought  has  contributed  largely  to  the  new  phase 
of  civilization,  which,  springing  out  of  the  com- 
paratively insignificant  and  barbarous  Jewish 
protestantism,  basing  itself  on  monotheism,  under 
the  name  of  Christianity,  has  virtually  supplanted 
polytheism  as  the  dominant  power  over  the  en- 
tire globe. 

One  God,  instead  of  legion,  is  therefore  the 
great  rehgious  notion  of  the  present  cycle,  in 
contradistinction  to  the  preceding.  Judea  has 
succeeded  Greece  as  the  religious  teacher  of 
ci^dlized  peoples.  In  the  struggle  between  the 
opposing  thoughts,  Greek  art  perished  with  the 
civilization  on  which  it  was  founded.  As  its 
faith  died  out,  so  its  forms  partook  of  a  corre- 
sponding moral  decay.  The  inherent  vice  of 
polytheism,  or  the  deification  of  the  natural,  after 
it  had  passed  its  climax  of  progress,  hastened  its 
final  dissolution  by  the  corruption  bred  out  of  the 
exaltation  of  the  sensual  over  the  intellectual ; 
base  ornament  becoming  the  primary  motive,  in- 


MONOTHEISM  CONQUERS  POLYTUEISM.  35 


stead  of  true  beauty,  while  the  pure  taste  that 
was  born  of  assthetic  law  was  lost  in  low  desire 
and  gross  ignorance. 

The  victory  of  monotheism  over  polytheism 
not  only  overthrcAV  temple  and  statue,  but  mind 
itself  relapsed  into  its  primitive  barbarism  as 
regards  art.  It  had  to  begin  a  new  career  from 
a  fresh  starting-point ;  and  as,  in  the  departed 
civilization,  paganism  at  first  had  made  art  a 
mere  instrument  to  symbolize  its  faith,  so  Chris- 
tianity did  the  same.  Everywhere  it  was  sub- 
ordinated to  the  new  motive-power  of  progress. 
Apart  it  had  no  real  existence.  Byzantine 
thought  became  entirely  theological.  Wars  and 
politics  hinged  upon  articles  of  faith.  Even 
when  art  was  used  as  ornament,  it  was  made 
to  partake  of  a  mystical  and  sacred  character, 
illustrative  of  the  dominant  ideas.  Indeed,  the 
new  creed  was  so  little  understood  in  the  spirit 
of  its  founder,  that  it  tended  rather  to  provoke 
subtle  speculation  and  controversial  passions  than 
to  regenerate  the  heart. 

Nothing  narrows  the  understanding  faster  than 
the  polemics  of  controversial  theology,  when  made 
the  basis  of  sectarian  strife  for  political  power, 
or  of  ecclesiastical  tyranny.  In  the  civil  wars 
that  accompanied  the  gradual  dissolution  of  the 
Roman  empire,  all  art  worthy  of  its  Grecian  par- 
entage rapidly  declined.  Its  decay,  however,  was 
hastened  by  its  own  innate  tendency  towards  sen- 
suality. Apart  from  the  noble  specimens  which 
have  survived  as  a  legacy  of  knowledge  and  ex- 
ample to  modern  art,  there  are,  it  must  be  con- 


36  THE  PHALLUS— ITS  MEANING  AND  USE. 


fessed,  chiefly  disinterred  from  the  buried  cities  of 
Campania,  but  characteristic  of  classical  civiliza- 
tion everywhere,  numberless  examples  of  a  pru- 
rient taste  for  the  low  and  base,  which  modern 
propriety  will  not  even  permit  to  be  seen  as 
relics,  but  on  discovery  consigns  at  once  to  a 
new  darkness  as  complete  as  the  old  in  which 
the  lava  had  buried  them.  We  must  not  con- 
sider, however,  that  these  objects  were  simply  the 
results  of  a  licentious  art.  To  the  early  ancient 
mind,  generation  had  a  sacred  significance.  The 
worship  of  Yenus  was  by  no  means  intended,  in 
its  primitive  point  of  view,  as  a  scandalous  ex- 
hibition of  sensual  passions ;  on  the  contrary,  acts 
and  objects  which  Christianity  rightly  puts  out  of 
sight  were  then  held  in  public  esteem,  as  emblem- 
atical of  divine  mysteries.  These  emblems  have, 
in  many  instances,  survived  their  original  mean- 
ing, and  yet  within  themselves  silently  perpetuate 
its  spirit.  Thus,  the  obelisk  is  rich  in  symbol- 
ism. It  was  the  sacred  phallus,  the  sun's  pro- 
lific ray,  a  pole  and  spindle  of  the  sky.  Even 
the  Christian  cross  is  but  the  union  of  the  most 
ancient  signs  of  the  male  and  female  organs  of 
generation,  formerly  signifying  human  life,  and 
now  risen  to  the  still  loftier  significance  of  the 
regeneration  of  the  soul. 

These  examples,  which  might  be  indefinitely 
multiplied,  should  teach  us,  before  condemning 
them,  to  inquire  into  their  origin  and  meaning, 
and  then  to  judge  them  from  the  mental  point 
of  view  from  which  they  arise.  The  obsolete 
of  to-day  is  the  vital  truth  of  yesterday.  The 


WffAT  THE  PAST  TEACHES.  37 


phallus  of  antiquity  was  seen  and  also  worn  by 
refined  women  without  any  of  those  sensations 
which  would  now  attend  its  exposure,  even  in 
the  lowest  of  the  sex.  Catholicism  replaced  it  by 
that  cross  which  the  Puritan  cannot  regard  with- 
out a  holy  shudder,  as  an  emblem  of  idolatry, 
although  the  Papist  esteems  it  as  his  priceless 
symbol  of  salvation. 

While,  however,  investigation  into  the  past 
teaches  us  that  everything,  whatever  its  present 
appearance,  has  its  origin  in  some  legitimate  sen- 
timent or  necessity,  yet  it  equally  discloses  the 
fact,  that,  by  long  use  and  continued  familiarity, 
the  most  sacred  rites  and  images  may  in  time 
lose  their  spiritual  efficacy,  and  become  instru- 
mental in  sensual  degradation.  That  this  was 
the  natural  revolution  of  mythology,  history  am- 
ply confirms  ;  but  its  very  corruption  prepared 
the  way  for  reformation,  by  the  tendency  of  the 
undisciplined  mind  to  counterbalance  one  extreme 
by  another.  Hence,  the  purity  of  Christianity, 
and  its  doctrines  of  immortal  life,  took  deep  root 
and  spread  rapidly  at  that  era  of  the  world's  his- 
tory when  the  so-called  heathenism  was  most  rife, 
and  all  reformation  seemed  most  hopeless.  In 
reality,  the  world  had  never  been  in  a  better  con- 
dition for  its  reception.  Polytheism,  as  a  faith, 
had  everywhere  died  out  or  been  shaken  in  the 
philosophic  mind,  which  was  honestly  infidel,  and 
inquiring  what  to  believe.  The  masses  saw  in 
their  condition  all  that  the  popular  religion  had 
to  offer  them,  —  sensualized  and  brutalized  lives 
on  earth,  and  vague  shadows  or  nothingness  in 


88 


THE  CLERGY  ENSLAVE  ART. 


the  future.  To  them,  therefore.  Christianity,  with 
its  spiritual  hopes  and  promises,  was  a  priceless 
offering.  They  grasped  it  at  random,  as  a  life- 
buoy floated  to  them  on  the  sea  of  time. 

Two  thousand  years  have  nearly  elapsed,  and 
the  unfolding  of  Christianity  to  its  ultimate  has 
scarcely  been  comprehended,  much  less  practised. 
As  yet  we  are  in  its  very  incipiency  in  our  own 
moral  condition ;  consequently,  we  should  look 
leniently  on  the  errors  of  our '  predecessors  in 
faith.  Christianity  was  the  antithesis  of  pagan- 
ism ;  therefore  it  should  not  surprise  us,  that,  in 
the  primary  reaction,  when  mind  went  back  to 
the  impulses  and  ignorance  of  childhood,  because 
put  into  a  new  phase  of  development,  the  misun- 
derstandings and  untutored  emotions  consequent 
upon  juvenescence  should  have  been  manifested. 

Whatever  was  of  the  old  religion  was  looked 
on  with  suspicion.  Art,  in  common  with  other 
knowledge,  shared  this  disgrace.  As  it  was  ne- 
cessary, however,  to  address  the  public  mind 
through  a  pictorial  literature,  the  new  priestcraft, 
after  it  became  confirmed  in  power,  did  as  its 
heathen  predecessor  had  done  :  seized  upon  art 
as  its  bondsman,  and  put  it  to  work  to  rudely  - 
illustrate  the  dogmas  with  which  it  strove  to 
rule  mankind.  For  nearly  one  thousand  years 
the  clergy  controlled  art,  and  kept  it  in  a  state 
of  barbarous  rigidity  or  undeveloped  expression, 
analogous  to  its  present  condition  among  the  sta- 
tionary Orientals.  In  architecture  there  were  re- 
peated and  partially  successful  attempts  to  escape 
this  bondage ;  but  the  chief  features  of  art  were 


ART  BECOMES  IDOLATRY,  39 


immobility  and  ignorance ;  its  object,  to  delineate 
the  legends  and  doctrines  of  the  new  church,  in 
designs  of  childish  and  almost  savage  rudeness 
and  simplicity ;  and  its  tendency  in  a  certain 
degree  mythological,  because  it  multiplied  objects 
of  worship,  and  perpetuated,  in  a  sense  the  most 
intelligible  and  convincing  to  the  common  mind, 
old  superstitions,  disguised  under  new  names  and 
forms.  The  dark  ages  are  indeed  a  lamentable 
epoch  in  human  history,  if  we*  view  them  only 
through  their  falsity,  selfishness,  and  intolerance ; 
but  when,  amid  all  these  tares,  we  see  the  seed,  as 
planted  by  Christ  in  humanity,  constantly  grow- 
ing upwards  and  struggling  successfully  towards 
greater  light,  we  feel  assured  that  the  human 
mind,  as  in  the  slow  changes  in  the  geological 
world,  was  preparing  the  way  for  the  higher 
spiritual  growth  whose  dawn  is  now  perceptible 
on  our  moral  horizon. 

It  was  thus,  that,  while  purer  and  nobler  mo- 
tives of  life  were  gradually  unfolded  to  humanity 
through  Christianity,  art,  by  being  violently  sev- 
ered from  the  intellectual  freedom  which  had 
made  it  so  estimable  in  Greece,  was  thrown  back 
to  its  infancy,  in  point  of  science.  The  human 
mind  was  swayed  by  it  less  as  art  than  as  idol- 
atry or  symbolism.  No  doubt,  in  either  of  these 
functions  its  influence  is  far  greater  than  in  its 
own  right,  because  it  becomes,  through  them,  the 
exponent  of  the  most  powerful  motives  that  can 
affect  humanity.  But  this  influence  is  conse- 
quent upon  the  absolute  degradation,  or  the  im- 
pe-fect  enlightenment,  both  of  art  itself  and  the 


40  THE  LAW  OF  GREEK  TASTE, 


being  to  whom  it  is  addressed.  Li  its  grosser 
and  most  prevalent  form,  it  partakes  of  fetichism ; 
in  its  milder  and  more  intellectual,  it  perpetuates 
superstition,  substituting  external  rites  and  forms 
for  inward  godliness  ;  and  in  both,  it  successfully 
appeals  only  to  the  lowest  sentiments  and  intelli- 
gence. Worse  than  all,  in  the  degree  of  its  ac- 
tual repulsiveness  and  positive  coarseness  is  its 
power  to  control  the  mind  that  reverences  it. 
As  we  see  among  savages  stones  and  rude  idols 
possessing  divine  authority,  so,  among  the  more 
cultivated  races,  on  the  same  principle  that  fal- 
sity and  superstition,  being  in  themselves  morally 
hideous,  seek  an  external  manifestation  in  corre- 
sponding appearances,  minds,  however  intelligent 
they  may  be  in  some  respects,  if  in  religion  they 
are  governed  by  fear  or  bigotry,  devote  them- 
selves, either  in  language  or  art,  to  such  expres- 
sions of  mere  ugliness  or  gross  materiality  as 
most  fittingly  embody  their  motives  and  feelings. 

By  keeping  closely  in  view  this  art-law  we 
shall  be  better  able  to  appreciate  the  difference 
between  Greek  art  and  that  which  took  its  place. 
In  Greece  the  artist  was  restricted,  by  a  refined 
natural  taste,  founded  upon  his  intellectual  code 
and  sensuous  creed,  to  the  expression  of  the 
highest  degree  of  beauty  conceivable.  Nay,  more. 
Not  only  must  his  execution  be  beautiful,  but 
his  choice  of  subject  must  be  such  as  would 
sesthetically  please.  In  form,  posture,  costume, 
or  color ;  in  the  employment  of  passion,  and 
even  pain  ;  in  short,  in  whatever  he  undertook, 
he  was  required,  not  only  by  the  popular  will, 


THE  LAW  OF  GREEK  TASTE.  41 

but,  as  in  the  instance  of  Thebes,  by  statute  law, 
to  avoid  the  ugly  and  depraved,  and  constant- 
ly to  aim  at  the  ennoblement  of  humanity  by 
the  suggestion  of .  its  most  graceful  and  exalted 
moods.  To  such  an  extent  was  the  devotion 
to  the  beautiful  carried,  that  prizes  were  given 
to  the  handsome  men  or  women  who  won  the 
suffrages  of  the  judges  at  public  competition. 
Beauty  actually  conferred  historic  fame,  because, 
at  least  in  theory,  it  was  associated  with  corre- 
sponding mental  and  physical  gifts.  They  also 
believed  in  the  influence  of  beautiful  objects 
about  them  to  foster  and  elevate  the  national 
standard  of  beauty,  and  to  impart  its  magnetism 
to  unborn  children,  through  the  impressible  fac- 
ulties of  their  mothers.  Their  games,  also,  were 
of  a  joyous,  sensuous  character,  incentive  to 
manly  strength,  womanly  grace,  and  general  ele- 
gance ;  while  those  of  the  Romans  served  to 
inculcate  brutality  and  thirst  of  blood.  The 
Greeks,  in  consequence,  grew  refined  and  hu- 
mane, the  Romans  rude  and  fierce  in  deport- 
ment. Next  to  the  moral  discipline  of  Chris- 
tianity we  can  cite  the  Grecian  passion  for  the 
beautiful  as  the  most  cogent  refiner  of  nations. 
Winckelmann  tells  us  that  the  Arcadians  were 
obliged  to  learn  music,  to  counteract  their  mo- 
rose and  fierce  manners,  and,  from  being  the 
worst,  became  the  most  honest  and  best-man- 
nered people  of  Greece.  It  is  true  there  were 
exceptions  to  these  exalted  notions  of  the  beauti- 
ful, forming  a  subordinate  school,  corresponding 
in  character,  but  with  lower  motives,  to  the  ordi- 


42 


ARTISTS  OF  FILTH. 


nary  genre  artists  of  modern  times.  Those 
who  delighted  in  base,  common,  or  morbid  sub- 
jects were  nicknamed  "  artists  of  filth."  In 
the  case  of  Pyrecius,  cited  by  Lessing,  parents 
were  advised  by  Aristotle  not  to  exhibit  his 
pictures  to  their  children,  lest  their  imagina- 
tions should  be  soiled  by  ugly  images.  Above 
all  faults,  Greek  taste  condemned  exaggeration 
and  caricature,  or  any  artifice  which  could  not 
plead  law  for  its  use,  as  necessary  for  the  aesthet- 
ic object  in  view.  By  artifice  we  here  mean 
simply  imitation  in  the  degree  of  deception  legiti- 
mate to  art,  but  foreign  to  any  appearance  or  em- 
ployment of  trickery,  by  which  the  senses  are 
vulgarly  deceived.  Indeed,  Grecian  good  taste 
was  the  ripe  product  of  a  slow  and  steady  growth 
of  gesthetic  knowledge.  Their  early  statues  were 
rudely  built  up  of  different  materials,  wood  and 
marble  for  instance,  the  extremities  being  made 
of  the  more  precious  article.  Sometimes  they 
were  painted  to  imitate  dress,  and  even  actually 
clothed,  —  puerilities  of  art,  which  are  paralleled 
by  the  practice  of  the  Catholic  priesthood  of  to- 
day. As  fast  as  the  Grecian  intellect  outgrew 
priestly  domination,  it  advanced  in  taste  and 
knowledge. 

Antiquity  is,  however,  by  no  means  without 
plentiful  examples  of  false  art.  It  had  its  freaks 
of  effect,  in  the  employment  of  color  in  statuary, 
as  we  perceive  in  the  remains  of  tints  from  which 
Gibson  borrows  his  reprehensible  practice  and 
theory,  endeavoring  to  amalgamate  hues  and  forms 
under  conditions  not  recognized  by  nature  her- 


FALSE  ART  OF  ANTIQUITY,  43 

self,  and  therefore  not  to  be  sanctioned  by  sound 
taste,  —  and  in  the  combination  of  differently 
colored  materials  in  the  same  statue,  as  in  the 
fine  Apollo  at  Naples,  whose  head,  hands,  and 
lyre  are  of  white  marble,  while  the  voluminous 
drapery  with  which  the  body  is  clothed  is  of  black 
porphyry  ;  thus  destroying  the  unity  so  requisite 
in  sculpture  between  the  pure  and  simple  charac- 
ter of  the  material  and  the  singleness  and  purity 
of  expression  demanded  solely  through  form,  any 
attempt  to  heighten  which,  by  the  addition  of 
colored  eyes  of  glass  or  ivory,  or  by  paint,  as  we 
find  in  some  antique  bronze  and  marble  busts, 
naturally  shocks,  because  they  are  not  only  ghast- 
ly, like  rouge  on  the  cheeks  of  a  corpse,  but  they 
lie  to  our  senses.  Vulgar  attempts  at  deception 
arouse  only  disgust  and  indignation.  It  is  evi- 
dent they  met  with  no  permanent  favor  in  Greece. 
The  Apollo,  in  the  same  hall,  entirely  of  dark 
green  basalt,  disappoints  in  statuesque  effect  as 
contrasted  with  the  pure  white  marble ;  but  it 
is  not  objectionable  on  the  score  of  low  artifice 
or  lack  of  unity.  We  find  fault  simply  with  the 
choice  of  material  to  the  use  of  which,  in  such  a 
character,  no  treatment,  however  successful,  can 
wholly  reconcile  the  spectator. 

The  ability  with  which  the  Greek  artist,  by 
the  rigor  of  his  education  and  the  exactions  of  his 
judges,  was  able  to  dignify  even  the  commonest 
act,  is  prominently  shovv^n  in  the  noble  statue  of 
Lysippus,  or  the  Athlete  of  the  Vatican.  The 
action  is  simply  scraping  the  sweat  from  his  arm, 
than  which  in  idea  no  subject  can  well  be  more 


44 


REALISM  IN  GREEK  ART. 


vulgar ;  but  the  attitude  and  expression,  indepen- 
dent of  its  pure  anatomical  detail  and  superior 
execution,  are  such  as  to  suggest,  in  the  classical 
sense,  the  "  godlike."  In  the  statue  of  Modesty, 
in  the  same  hall,  notice  how  much  its  value  de- 
pends upon  its  simplicity,  repose,  and  the  chaste 
management  of  drapery,  —  the  seemingly  easiest 
and  secondary  efforts  of  the  artist  being  made 
to  give  the  highest  character  to  his  work !  So, 
in  the  figure  of  Silence,  of  the  Capitol,  we  see 
how  successfully  it  speaks,  simply  through  the 
nice  discrimination  of  its  author  in  its  attitude, 
every  line  proclaiming  the  art-motive  and  affect- 
ing the  spectator  with  a  like  feeling. 

In  the  multitude  of  ancient  statues  we  find 
but  few  examples  of  intentional  variation  from 
the  aesthetic  law  of  Greek  art.  Of  these  per- 
haps the  most  conspicuous  is  an  Old  Hag,  (Hec- 
uba ?)  of  the  Capitol,  admirably  done,  if  one 
delights  in  the  exhibition  of  a  decrepit  female 
form,  and  a  countenance  of  care,  misery,  and 
possible  crime.  It  is  disgustingly  correct  realism. 
Once  it  may  have  had  value  as  a  portrait,  like  the 
well-known  bust  of  ^sop,^  in  the  Villa  Albani, 
but  now  can  conduce  to  no  other  end  than  to 
justify  the  refinement  of  the  antique  taste  in 
inexorably  condemning  such  a  choice  and  treat- 
ment of  sculpture.  The  Drunken  Woman,  in 
the  same  museum,  is  of  a  similar  character.  It 
repels  the  feelings  from  the  sex  by  its  opposition 
to  that  we  hold  loveliest  and  best  in  it.  There 
are,  however,  among  the  bas-reliefs  in  the  Borbo- 
*  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 


THE  BLIND  MAN  AND  THE  BACCHUS.  45 

nico  Museum  of  Naples,  instances  of  this  treat- 
ment which,  from  their  spirit  and  feeling,  reconcile 
one  to  its  occasional  use.  They  are  the  Blind 
Man,  who  touches  our  emotions  rightly,  and  the 
Bacchus,  who  with  his  gay  revellers  is  so  jollily 
tipsy  that  it  is  impossible  not  to  sympathize  in 
their  merriment,  despite  the  sage  axioms  of  tem- 
perance. 

In  the  representation  of  animal  life  the  Greek 
artist  was  almost  equally  successful  as  with  the 
human.  In  fine,  beauty,  as  evolved  from  unity, 
harmony,  and  the  highest  truths  of  form,  color, 
and  expression,  to  the  intent  to  produce  intellec- 
tual and  sensuous  satisfaction,  was  inexorably 
required  of  him. 


CHAPTER  Vn. 


Christian  Art-Motive.  —  The  Three  Phases  of  Christian  Art. 

—  Objections  to  Generalization.  —  Necessity  for.  —  The 
Pif)testants  of  the  Dark  Ages.  —  The  Dawning  Phase.  — 
Comparison  between  Grecian  and  Christian  Art,  in  Charac- 
ter and  Execution.  —  Examples.  —  The  Laokoon.  —  Dying 
Gladiator.  —  Sensualism  of  Christian  Art. —  Whence  de- 
rived. —  Art-Aspect  of  Oriental  Symbolism.  —  Dante.  — 
Milton.  —  Orgagna.  —  Michel  Angelo.  —  Their  Works  as 
Art  and  Illustrations  of  Christian  Ideas.  —  Phidias.  —  Apollo 
de  Belvedere. — Flora  of  Naples.  —  Torso  de  Belvedere. — 
Elgin  Marbles.  —  Perfect  Art.  —  Bad  Art.  —  The  Demand 
of  the  Present  Age.  —  Ideal  in  Art  a  Comparative  Term. — 
Pieta  of  Michel  Angelo.  —  Domenichino's  St.  Jerome.  — 
Kaphael's  Transfiguration.  —  God  and  Christ  as  Art-Ob- 
jects. —  Christ  of  Michel  Angelo. — Tenerani:  Saviour, 
Angel,  and  Descent  from  the  Cross.  —  Pagan  Ascetic  Art. 

—  The  Diogenes  of  Naples.  —  Christian  Ascetic  Art.  —  The 
St.  Jerome  of  Agostino  Carracci.  —  Heathen  and  Christian 
Grotesque  compared.  —  II  Penseroso. 

EFORE  proceeding  to  a  more  particular 
analysis  of  Christian  art  as  a  whole,  we 
must  enlarge  upon  the  radical  difference 
between  it  and  that  of  antiquity,  arising  from 
their  antagonistic  primary  principles  of  sensuous 
pleasure  and  self-sacrifice  ;  the  one  aiming  at 
heightening  every  enjoyment,  whether  of  body 
or  intellect,  on  the  plane  of  present  happiness, 
and  the  other  of  subduing  the  natural  desires,  as 


THE  CHRISTIAN  MOTIVE.  Al 


in  themselves  sinful,  and  seeking  to  win  a  future 
good,  and  to  escape  a  future  retribution,  by  the 
purifying  processes  of  self-denial  and  expiation. 
In  both  cases,  through  the  excessive  culture  of 
these  opposite  principles,  the  body  became  the 
sufferer,  and  by  the  inevitable  workings  of  sen- 
sualism or  asceticism  avenged  outraged  morality. 
But  it  was  as  natural  for  one  extreme  to  be  suc- 
ceeded by  the  other,  as  for  the  tide  of  the  ocean 
to  rise  and  fall.  The  generous  culture  of  the 
Greek  produced  more  pleasing  effects,  because 
his  scope  was  normal  humanity  and  his  aim  nat- 
ural beauty.  The  Christian  attempted  a  more 
difficult  task,  and  with  a  loftier  purpose.  He 
sought  to  portray  the  triumphs  of  the  spirit  over 
the  body.  Instead  of  seeking  sensuous  beauty, 
he  sought  rather  to  manifest  his  contempt  of  it. 
No  longer  was  the  body  a  cherished  friend  of  life, 
but  its  direct  foe.  Studiously  depreciating  it, 
he  destroyed  the  harmony  which  should  exist 
between  holy  feeling  and  beautiful  form.  His 
motive  was  indeed  noble ;  but  ignorance  and 
fanaticism  too  often  turned  his  art  into  burlesque 
or  horror.  Even  the  person  of  Christ,  his  God,  was 
subjected  to  this  coarse  treatment,  on  the  ground 
that  his  earthly  life  was  a  prolonged  humiliation, 
and  his  death  an  expiation  of  the  sins  of  the 
world.  To  him  he  was  a  literal  man  of  sorrows 
and  the  chief  of  martyrs.  For  a  time,  that 
sacred  figure,  to  portray  which  under  the  most 
lovely  human  type  art  now  considers  its  highest 
triumph,  was  designedly  represented  as  ignoble 
and  vulgar.     It  was  only  when  the  Christian 


48         CHRISTIAN  ART  DISAPPOINTS. 


artist  began  to  appreciate  the  rules  of  Greek 
taste,  that  he  emerged  from  his  error,  and  suc- 
ceeded, though  imperfectly,  in  connecting  his  spir- 
itual aspirations  with  a  more  congenial  outward 
expression.  Unfortunately,  before  he  had  per- 
fected his  style,  he  was  seduced  from  his  purer 
motive  into  a  love  of  the  external,  and  learned 
to  prefer  workmanship  or  mere  scientific  skill  and 
force  to  idea ;  so  that,  without  surpassing,  accord- 
ing to  the  inspiration  of  his  faith,  the  best  works 
of  the  plastic  art  of  Greece  as  inspired  by  its 
religion,  he  has  simply  hinted  the  superior  excel- 
lence of  his  motive.  The  Greek  perfected  his 
work,  and  rested  awhile  upon  the  high  stand- 
ard he  had  created.  His  Christian  brother,  on 
the  contrary,  has  never  fully  reached  his  aim. 
Within  one  generation  —  that  of  Raphael  —  he 
passed  rapidly  from  those  art-motives,  which,  if 
conscientiously  persevered  in,  by  the  aid  of  sci- 
ence might  have  long  ago  carried  Christian  art  to 
a  corresponding  degree  of  perfection  with  the 
Grecian,  into  a  stage  that  marked  the  decline, 
rather  than  the  advance,  of  his  new-found 
teacher.  Mankind  was  not  yet  ripe  for  the  per- 
fect development  of  art.  It  preferred  for  a  while 
longer  dead  bones  to  new  soul-forms.  It  is  evi- 
dent to  every  student  of  human  progress  that 
Christian  art,  thus  far,  has  been  but  a  series  of 
attempts,  as  fluctuating  and  as  disappointing  as 
the  expression  of  Christianity  itself.  Hence,  we 
have  still  to  look  for  its  complete  advent.  This 
will  not  be  until  the  heart  of  man,  more  fully 
warmed  by  Christ's  love,  prepares  his  under- 


THREE  PHASES  OF  CHRISTIAN  ART.  49 


standing  to  receive  a  larger  measure  of  divine 
wisdom  than  has  yet  been  given  to  it. 

No  just  comparison,  therefore,  at  this  period, 
can  be  instituted  between  the  completed  classical 
and  immatured  Christian  art.  The  one  attained 
its  full  growth  and  passed  away ;  while  the  other, 
founded  upon  deeper  and  more  enduring  revela- 
tion, is  but  in  its  childhood.  Indeed,  it  is  but 
reawakening  from  the  lethargy  to  which  the  look- 
ing back  of  the  past  three  centuries  to  the  forms 
and  ideas  of  its  predecessor,  rather  than  to  its 
spirit  and  knowledge,  doomed  it,  after  it  attained 
its  first  genuine  expression  in  the  Pre-Raphaelite 
efforts  that  succeeded  its  primary  dogmatic  for- 
malism. • 

Christian  art  has  had  thus  far  three  phases  of 
being.  First,  the  theological,  when  the  church 
dictated  its  laws.  This  lasted  from  the  time  of 
Constantine  to  the  thirteenth  century. 

Secondly,  the  religious,  which  began  in  the 
awakening  of  the  European  mind  at  the  termina- 
tion of  the  preceding  epoch,  and  continued  until 
the  sixteenth  century. 

The  first  period  was  the  reign  of  superstition ; 
the  second,  of  devotion.  Interwoven  with  the 
latter,  and  fostered  by  mediaeval  enterprise,  was 
that  intellectual  freedom  which,  however  imper- 
fect in  action,  helped  to  vindicate  the  rights  of 
mind,  and  leavened  the  new  schools  with  the 
principles  of  growth.  Two  grand  streams  flowed 
from  this  union  :  the  one,  true  and  earnest,  look- 
ing to  nature  as  a  guide,  while  continuing  to  find 
in  the  religious  faculty  its  chief  aliment,  welcom- 
4 


50     OBJECTIONS  TO  GENERALIZATION. 


ing  such  aid  as  the  then  partial  knowledge  and 
sparse  examples  of  pure  classicalism  afforded  it; 
the  other  disinterring  ancient  art  as  a  model, 
accepting  its  forms  without  its  spirit,  and  devot- 
ing it  to  pride  and  pleasure.  Out  of  this  last 
grew  that  anomalous,  mongrel,  semi-sensual  phase, 
which,  taking  the  precedence  of  the  first,  formed 
the  third,  and  is  known  as  the  Renaissance.  It 
was  a  fusion  of  pagan  philosophy  with  modern 
unbelief,  at  a  time  when  the  heads  of  the  Eoman 
church,  setting  an  example  of  skepticism  and 
licentiousness,  saw  only  in  art  an  instrument  of 
self-glory  or  sensual  gratification.  From  such  a 
soil  what  other  harvest  could  be  garnered  than 
decline  and  corruption?"^ 

There  are  grave  objections  to  generalization. 
In  condensing  the  mental  characteristics  of  indi- 
viduals or  epochs  a  degree  of  misapprehension 
or  injustice  can  scarcely  be  avoided.  Yet,  in 
looking  back  over  the  stream  of  time,  certain 
lights  and  shadows  are  so  conspicuous  as  to  give 
a  general  tone  to  the  view.  Doubtless  a  nearer 
sight  would  disclose  the  brighter  or  darker  spots, 
now  lost  in  the  far  distance.  It  is  sufficient,  how- 
ever, for  common  distinctions  to  faithfully  report 
the  view  as  a  whole. 

There  is  perhaps  as  much  art-superstition  in 
the  world  now  as  in  the  ages  succeeding  Con- 
stantme.  Scores  of  millions  of  Roman  and 
Greek  Catholics  still  worship  the  rudest  and 

*  We  have,  in  a  previous  work,  devoted  to  the  Itah'an 
schools,  examined  in  detail  and  given  the  history  of  mediae- 
val painting.    See  Art-Studies^  Chap.  III.  et  seq. 


MEDIEVAL  REVIVAL. 


51 


tawdriest  pictures  and  images.  Their  ideas  of 
religion  are  derived  from  them.  Protestants  in 
art  and  faith  spoke  in  former  days  as  now,  but 
their  voices  were  drowned  in  the  great  tide  of 
ignorance  and  credulity.  The  mediaeval  revival 
of  learning  scattered  somewhat  the  mental  dark- 
ness that  brooded  over  Europe.  Mind  began,  in 
all  directions,  to  light  up  the  horizon.  Art  felt 
the  impulse,  and  most  gloriously  did  it  shine  forth 
for  a  while ;  less,  perhaps,  under  the  inspiration 
of  a  more  enlightened  piety,  than  of  a  higher  spir- 
itual consciousness.  But  its  illumination  was  too 
partial.  Being  exclusively  devotional,  it  failed 
to  satisfy  the  varied  desires  of  a  freed  and  grow- 
ing understanding.  The  naturalistic  schools  gave 
it  another  impetus.  Then  came  the  fatal  imita- 
tion of  departed  classical  art,  prostituted  to  the 
lusts  of  power  and  sense,  in  its  uses  pregnant 
with  evil,  but,  in  the  spirit  of  investigation  it 
awakened,  filled  with  eventual  promise  of  wis- 
dom from  out  of  the  experience  of  the  past. 
Thus  the  evil  and  good  of  all  these  eras  are  con- 
temporaneous. Each  contained  the  elements  of 
the  other,  gradually  unfolding  their  respective 
properties,  as  one  extreme  excited  another ;  the 
truth,  meanwhile,  through  all  its  checkered  ex- 
pressions, grovdng  apace,  and  preparing  the  world 
for  a  fourth  phase  of  Christian  art,  now  arising, 
and  which,  from  its  broad  scope  and  recognition 
of  all  nature  and  humanity  as  its  inspiration 
and  science  as  its  co-worker,  may  be  called  the 
Catholic  or  Universal. 

To  better  illustrate  the  essential  differences  in 


52 


LAOKOOJSr. 


the  character  and  execution  of  classical  and  Chris- 
tian art,  a  few  of  the  best-known  examples  of 
each  may  be  put  in  contrast.  The  comparison 
is  unequal  in  respect  that,  while  the  former  can 
now  only  be  represented  by  detached  and  more 
or  less  mutilated  sculpture,  the  latter  has  the  ad- 
vantage of  painting  still  existing  in  the  localities 
for  which  it  was  designed,  and,  to  a  certain 
extent,  the  continued  existence  of  the  feeling  in 
which  it  was  conceived.  Its  disadvantage  con- 
sists, as  we  have  before  remarked,  in  its  being 
but  an  imperfect  expression  of  the  religious 
thought  out  of  which  it  has  sprung,  while  Greek 
art  is  the  ripe  fruit  both  of  pagan  faith  and 
knowledge.  A  philosophic  mind  may,  however, 
sufficiently  elevate  itself  to  view  each  by  the 
light  of  aesthetic  judgment. 

In  which,  as  a  whole,  are  the  spirit  and  pur- 
pose of  art  best  manifested  ? 

Rightly  to  answer  this,  we  must  first  ascer- 
tain the  relative  superiority  and  inferiority  of  the 
underlying  idea.  Next,  we  have  to  get  at  the 
degree  of  identification  between  the  object  and 
the  idea.  As  this  is  complete  and  exact,  and  the 
inspiration  pure  and  lofty,  so  is  the  art  in  degree 
perfect.  Infants  are  called  artless,  because  body 
and  mind  correspond  so  naturally  and  harmoni- 
ously. Art  is  artless  in  the  same  sense  when  its 
outward  form  as  well  expresses  its  governing 
idea. 

The  Greeks  rarely  sought  to  represent  phys- 
ical suffering.  They  deprecated  any  depart- 
ure from  the  strictly  beautiful  and  pleasurable. 


LA  OK  0  ON. 


53 


Whenever,  as  in  the  Laokoon,  the  exhibition  of 
bodily  pain  became  necessary,  it  was  made  subor- 
dinate to  aesthetic  taste.  In  this  group,  under- 
going a  death  of  the  utmost  anguish  and  horror, 
there  is,  in  the  father's  silent  appeal  to  heaven 
for  his  sons'  escape  from  an  inexorable  fate, 
and  the  pitiful  look  of  the  children  directed  to 
him  whose  sins  are  thus  visited  upon  them,  a 
moral  beauty  which  overpowers  the  sense  of 
physical  agony.  We  perceive  the  awful  fate 
impending,  and  are  spared  the  absolute  rack  of 
flesh  and  blood.  This  the  artist  would  not  give. 
He  does  not  permit  Laokoon  to  cry  aloud,  though 
one  can  anticipate  his  convulsive  sighs.  Hence 
our  feelings  are  moved  to  pity  and  admiration  by 
his  endurance,  without  being  disturbed  by  vehe- 
ment action,  or  the  sense  of  the  beautiful  and 
grand  being  marred  by  the  writhings  of  bodily  an- 
guish. As  a  whole,  the  conception  is  simple  and 
lofty.  There  are  errors  of  detail  in  execution,  par- 
ticularly in  the  unchildlike  faces  of  the  sons,  and 
a  misconception  of  the  instincts  of  the  anaconda 
species  of  serpent  in  biting,  that  prevent  this 
group  from  ranking  among  the  highest  specimens 
of  ancient  art.  Still,  we  feel  that  a  great  soul  is 
expiring  in  awful  torment,  and  teaching  the  world 
a  great  lesson,  particularly  if  we  view  the  group 
in  its  symbolical  sense  of  "  sin,"  or  the  throttler, 
which  Max  Miiller  says  is  the  original  mean- 
ing or  root  of  its  name.  Spirit  predominates. 
Idea  and  object  are  identical,  and  true  art  is 
attained. 

Much  of  the  character  of  this  group  depends 


54 


THE  DYING  GLADIATOR. 


upon  that  subtile  principle  of  repose  wliicli  dis- 
tinguishes the  best  antique  art  from  most  of 
modern  work.  Although  violent  and  convulsive 
action  is  suggested  by  the  nature  of  the  scene, 
the  artist  has  so  skilfully  chosen  the  moment  of 
execution,  that  we  feel,  above  all  else,  its  deep 
quiet.  We  are  placed  upon  the  very  brink  of 
the  final  catastrophe,  when  the  breath  is  sus- 
pended, every  muscle  is  prepared  to  exert  itself 
to  its  utmost  opposition,  and  each  nerve  is  vital 
with  agonizing  anticipation ;  the  victims  see  their 
doom,  and  instinctively  prepare  to  resist  it,  even 
though  the  utter  inutility  of  resistance  is  mani- 
fest ;  but  the  artist  leaves  us,  in  their  joint  strug- 
gle, a  moral  suggestion  of  hope^  the  angel-sister 
of  sin,  to  lighten  the  otherwise  too  painful  im- 
pression upon  the  spectator;  and  the  conscious- 
ness of  all  this  is  given  by  the  skilful  seizing  of 
the  exact  instant  in  which  the  stillness  of  instinct- 
ive preparation  precedes  the  last  fearful  effort  of 
tortured  nature  to  escape  its  doom. 

The  Dying  Gladiator  is  another  specimen  of 
ever-living  art.  It  is  an  incarnation  of  the  spirit 
of  the  universal  brotherhood  of  men  in  their 
common  heritage  of  suffering  and  death.  A  man 
dying  by  blood-drops  from  a  stab  !  A  simple  and 
common  subject ;  yet  how  beautiful  and  sugges- 
tive the  treatment !  Upon  nothing  of  ancient 
pathetic  art  have  we  lingered  with  more  grati- 
fication. Criticism  is  absorbed  in  sympathy,  and 
the  fear  or  pain  of  death  in  the  spirit's  retrospec- 
tion of  life  and  inquiring  gaze  into  futurity. 
Behold  a  fellow-being  prematurely  sent  by  a  vio- 


THE  CHRISTIAN  HELL. 


55 


lent  death  to  the  mysterious  confines  of  eternity, 
and  about  to  solve  the  common  problem  of  life, 
whose  evils  have  been  to  him  so  prolific  a  heri- 
tage.    God  aid  him  ! 

Is  any  St.  Sebastian,  St.  Lawrence,  or  other 
martyr  of  Christian  art,  more  truthfully  and  pa- 
thetically represented  than  this  dying  Pagan  ? 
Suppose  the  artist  had  left  the  sword  stuck  into 
his  side,  and  his  limbs  violently  disturbed  by  the 
muscular  distortion  of  gaping  wounds.  What 
then  would  have  been  the  effect  ?  Yet  the  com- 
mon fashion  of  Christian  art  is  to  appeal  to  the 
coarser  sympathies,  by  exaggeration  of  physi- 
cal sufferings,  emaciation,  or  the  tokens  of  pov- 
erty and  asceticism.  The  idea  is  no  less  iden- 
tified with  the  object  than  in  Grecian  art ;  but, 
while  the  latter  sought  to  dignify  humanity, 
Christianity,  on  the  contrary,  sought  a  develop- 
ment of  spiritual  growth  by  means  of  fleshly 
penance  and  suffering.  Its  art  indeed  essayed  to 
illustrate  its  thoughts ;  but,  having  mistaken  the 
intention  of  Christ,  who  came  "  eating  and  drink- 
ing "  to  the  intent  to  reconcile  the  twofold  nature 
of  man  and  direct  its  harmonized  energies  towards 
heaven,  it  need  not  surprise  us  that  it  fell  into  a 
gross  materialism,  whose  effects  on  spiritual  edu- 
cation were  scarcely  less  lamentable  than  were 
those  of  pagan  sensualism.  Out  of  it  grew  that 
terrible  imagery  of  fiery  torment  which  it  harrows 
the  mind  even  to  think  of  for  one  moment, — - 
the  Christian  hell,  whose  pangs  were  likened  to  a 
serpent's  ever-gnawing  envenomed  tooth,  —  a  per- 
petual lake  of  flaming  brimstone,  dense  with  lewd 


56  THE  CHRISTIAN  HELL. 


and  blood-lusting  demons,  of  indescribable  and 
monstrous  shapes  and  insatiable  appetites,  gloat- 
ing in  the  foulest  wickedness  and  quivering  with 
unmentionable  horrors,  whose  sole  occupation 
was  to  torture,  throughout  eternity,  the  unab- 
solved of  the  church,  finding  in  their  agonized 
flesh  and  mangled  bodies  the  most  savory  morsels 
of  their  quenchless  appetites,  —  in  short,  a  future 
more  prolific  of  material  horror  than  the  maddest 
Pagan  imagination  had  ever  conceived,  under  the 
authority  of  a  supreme  devil,  in  whom,  as  Satan, 
was  incarnated  all  evil,  and  who,  through  fear, 
was  made  the  rival  and  antagonist  of  the  Chris- 
tian's God.  Such  was  the  fearful  conception  by 
which  the  new  art  sought  to  reform  mankind. 

But,  while  so  base  a  conception  was  made  a 
primary  agent  of  conversion,  the  artistic  allure- 
ments of  heaven,  outside  of  its  architectural 
magnificence  and  supersensuous  materialistic  im- 
agery, were  singularly  ambiguous  and  uninviting. 
With  all  the  accumulated  wealth  of  its  precious 
stones,  brilliant  colors,  and  walls  of  alabaster,  it  was 
but  a  sort  of  purified  Olympus,  swept  clean  of  its 
sensuous  enjoyments,  and  given  over  to  stifi*  rows 
of  the  redeemed,  in  quaint,  uncomfortable  cos- 
tumes, with  musical  instruments  monotonously 
chanting  and  singing  evermore  around  thrones 
filled  with  a  triumphant  hierarchy  of  the  churcli. 
This  was  the  commonly  received  imagery,  both  in 
art  and  literature,  of  future  bliss.  We  speak  of 
it  irrespective  of  its  language  of  symbolism,  or 
the  genius  of  those  artists  who  so  spiritualized 
their  art  as  to  lift  it  above  all  material  signifi- 


CHRISTIAN  MATERIALISM.  57 


cance,  and  invested  it  with  a  truly  celestial  beauty 
and  meaning.^  With  such  crude  ideas  of  the 
life  to  come,  joined  to  rank  errors  in  the  uses  and 
purposes  of  present  existence,  arising  from  view- 
ing its  means  and  pleasures  as  so  many  fatal 
snares  for  the  soul,  it  is  no  wonder  that  Christian 
art,  so  long  as  it  continued  exclusively  under  this 
bondage,  became  the  opposite,  in  aesthetic  charac- 
ter and  meaning,  of  Greek  art. 

The  Greek  artist  avoided  sensualism  as  long 
as  he  preserved  his  strict  intellectuality.  His 
Christian  successor  inadvertently  plunged  into  the 
meanest  and  most  cowardly  materialism,  in  his 
unwise  abhorrence  of  sense.  The  motives  to  gain 
that  spiritual  life  which  he  so  illy  comprehended 
were  based  upon  the  lowest  principles  of  human 
nature.  Men  were  to  be  frightened  into  good 
morals,  or  coaxed  into  acquiescence  to  pet  dog- 
mas, and  heaven  itself  bribed  by  atoning  priva- 
tions, a  renunciation  of  social  duties,  or  perver- 
sion of  humanity's  gifts.  In  short,  the  Creator 
was  to  be  made  pitiful  and  humane  by  the  self- 
degradation  of  the  being  he  had  created  in  his 
own  image. 

In  India  and  Egypt,  art,  being  purely  symbol- 
ical, was  originally  interpreted  in  the  sense  of  the 
mysteries,  often  sublime  and  pure  in  conception, 
it  was  intended  to  illustrate.  As  art,  however, 
its  significance,  or,  more  properly  speaking,  its 
influence,  was  but  secondary.  Still,  it  had  its 
rules ;  and  the  subtlest  scale  of  human  propor- 

*  See  Art-Studies^  Chap.  VIII.:  Fra  Angelico,  Sano  di 
Pietro,  and  their  school. 


58         ORIENTALS  CHAINED  THOUGHT, 


tions,  making  of  the  little  the  colossal,  and  giving 
all  statuary  to  which  it  was  applied  beauty  and 
grandeur  of  form,  is  said  to  be  traced  back  to 
Egypt.  Science,  however,  never  there  attained 
sufficient  ascendency  over  priestly  dictation  to  un- 
fetter their  statues  and  bid  them  walk.  Even 
the  early  Greeks  chained  theirs,  lest  they  should 
escape.  Oriental  nations  chained  thought,  and 
kept  their  art  in  hopeless  slavery.  But,  how- 
ever monstrous,  puerile,  and  false  their  concep- 
tions of  nature  and  divinity  might  be,  they  con- 
veyed them  to  the  popular  mind  in  an  emblem- 
atic art,  so  unlike  natural  objects  that  the  sacred 
truths  thus  published  through  obscure,  fanciful, 
and  extraordinary  mediums  were  without  that  di- 
rect shock  to  blood  and  nerves  consequent  upon 
the  pictorial  damnations  of  Christianity.  Yet  the 
doctrine  of  a  material  retribution  had  its  origin 
in  the  East,  from  Chaldea  and  Persia  finding  its 
way  into  Judea,  and  thence  into  Christendom,  in 
its  present  form. 

Dante's  "  Inferno  "  embodies  the  common  notion 
of  hell  of  Christian  sects.  By  his  far-seeing  mind, 
and  those  of  kindred  perceptions  in  any  age,  it 
would  be  received  only  in  a  typical  sense.  But 
to  the  mass  it  was  and  is  a  material  truth,  —  a 
place  of  torment,  where  even  divine  love  is  pow- 
erless to  give  a  drop  of  water  to  cool  the  burning 
tongue.  In  this  respect  Dante  is  the  great  pro- 
totype of  mediaeval  plastic  art,  just  as  Milton's 
poetical  legends  of  heaven's  wars,  derived  though 
they  be  from  Roman  Catholic  art  and  traditions, 
have  become  the  unquestioned  traditionary  lore 


DANTE  AND  MICHEL  ANGEL  0.  59 

of  Protestant  Christianity,  and  as  Homer's  "  Iliad  " 
was  the  bible  of  classical  art.  In  either  case, 
art  simply  embodied  the  popular  notions  of  the 
times,  and,  by  the  force  of  its  genius,  conveyed 
them  to  coming  generations  with  the  authority 
of  law.  Orgagna,  Michel  Angelo,  and  their 
compeers  are  the  culminations,  in  painting  and 
sculpture,  of  Dante's  poem.  They  translated  its 
horrors  into  form  and  color,  in  so  earnest  and 
terrible  a  manner  that  even  an  enlightened  un- 
derstanding cannot  view  their  works  without  sick- 
ening dismay.  The  latter  borrowed  of  antiquity 
its  peculiar  notions  of  doomed  souls  to  heighten 
the  malignity  of  his  day  of  judgment.  But  how 
feeble  is  the  Greek  hades  compared  with  the 
Christian  hell ! 

A  grosser  plagiarism  and  less  inventive  great 
art-composition  does  not  exist,  than  the  famed 
Sistine  Judgment.  It  is  Dante's  idea,  with  the 
principal  figures  borrowed  in  composition  from 
the  earlier  masters,  made  anomalous  by  the  intro- 
duction of  pagan  thought,  foreign  in  feeling  to  the 
main  subject.  In  posture  and  anatomy  Michel 
Angelo  here  burlesques  himself,  although  there  is 
not  a  stroke  of  his  brush  which  does  not  show  the 
power  of  a  great  master.  Still,  as  a  whole,  the 
weightiest  judgment  it  conveys  to  the  critical  mind 
is  upon  the  artist  who  could  thus  fetter  his  lofty 
genius  to  so  ignoble  an  end.  We  see  by  this  fres- 
co how  much  Michel  Angelo  fails  in  comparison 
with  Phidias,  on  account  of  the  restraint  put 
upon  aesthetic  taste  by  the  severity  of  his  creed, 
lUid  its  development,  in  him,  of  a  morbid  humor 


60     SCULPTURES  OF  THE  PARTHENON, 


in  matters  of  religion,  which  one,  however,  re- 
spects for  its  earnestness  and  as  a  rebuke  to  the 
licentiousness  of  infidelity  around  him.  Even 
when  he  asserted  his  independence  in  the  nude 
figure,  ecclesiastical  authority  subsequently  added 
draperies,  on  the  ground  of  scandalous  impro- 
prieties ;  so  that  we  do  not  now  see  his  work 
as  he  would  have  had  it  seen ;  and  this  should 
be  remembered  to  his  favor."^ 

The  range  of  Greek  art,  in  comparison  with 
its  successor,  was  indeed  limited ;  but,  so  far  as  it 
went,  it  was  loyal  to  its  own  laws.  Hence  the 
choice  of  its  subjects  and  their  treatment  were  in 
the  main  rigidly  confined  to  an  exposition  of  its 
purest  principles.  The  sculptures  of  the  Par- 
thenon are  the  purest  specimens  of  Greek  taste 
now  known.  One  cannot  gaze  upon  their  broken 
fragments  without  a  swelling  sensation  of  life. 
Theseus  is  sublime  in  his  simple,  godlike  truth,  — 
a  man  on  his  way  to  divinity.  So,  in  an  inferior 
degree,  are  the  Apollo  of  the  Vatican  and  the  so- 
called  Flora  at  Naples.  The  latter  would  be 
improved  by  knocking  off  its  modern  head,  and 
leaving  the  imagination,  inspired  by  its  delicate 
and  graceful  flow  of  drapery,  suggesting,  rather 
than  showing,  its  exquisite  though  colossal  pro- 
portions, and  its  chaste,  majestic  attitude,  to  invest 
it  with  its  original  perfection.  Notwithstanding  its 
great  size,  we  feel  the  fascination  of  the  charming 
woman ;  and  though  a  goddess,  the  delicacy  and 
tenderness  of  the  sexual  nature  compel  our  love. 

*  For  a  more  complete  view  of  Michel  Angelo,  see  Art- 
Studies,  Chap.  XIV. 


AIM  OF  CLASSICAL  ART.  61 


Examples  of  female  loveliness,  of  manly  strength, 
of  heroic  action,  and  of  the  faculties  of  head  and 
heart,  and  beauty  of  form,  that  most  worthily 
represent  man  or  woman  under  the  guise  of  a 
Juno,  Minerva,  or  Venus,  a  Hercules,  Jupiter, 
Mars,  or  Bacchus,  and  other  personages  of  a 
populous  Olympus,  are  too  familiar  to  readers  to 
require  to  be  more  particularly  pointed  out.  In 
their  virtues  and  vices  these  gods  are  alike  human, 
and,  in  consequence,  upon  our  own  level  of  mo- 
tive and  action,  or  within  the  range  of  our  own 
capacities. 

Added  to  this  strong  ground  of  a  common  inter- 
est growing  out  of  sensuous  sympathy  and  a  cer- 
tain affinity  of  mutual  possibihties  of  life,  are  the 
naturalness  and  refined  taste  exacted  by  the  clas- 
sical conception  of  beauty.  Not  only  our  feelings 
are  moved,  but  our  judgment  is  won.  Even  if, 
as  in  the  Torso  de  Belvedere,  we  see  only  a  mu- 
tilated trunk,  it  is  instinctive  with  life.  Like  the 
Elgin  marbles,  it  reveals  to  us  an  art  that  com- 
prised an  harmonious  union  of  majesty,  grandeur, 
and  breadth  of  composition,  united  to  exactness 
of  detail  so  truthful  in  the  minutest  particulars, 
and  so  full  of  ease,  grace,  and  vitality,  as  to  seem 
more  like  the  divine  inspirations  of  the  creative 
power  itself  than  the  result,  as  it  was,  of  a  labo- 
rious and  conscientious  application  of  the  laws  of 
matter  to  the  representation  of  spirit.  In  art  of 
this  character  we  realize  that  the  artist  has  pene- 
trated the  great  mystery  of  nature,  namely,  that 
organic  form,  being  the  concrete  of  spirit,  is  spon- 
taneously evolved  and  exfoliated,  as  it  were,  in 


62 


SUCCESS  OF  CLASSICAL  ART, 


sympathy  with  the  action  and  necessities  of  the 
inward  principle  or  soul.  His  aim  has  therefore 
been  to  give  a  beautiful  exhibition  of  their  unity, 
from  his  artistic  standard  of  the  exaltation  of 
sensuous  humanity,  and  the  personification  of  his 
poetical  pantheism.  The  success  of  his  art  de- 
pended upon  its  being  alike  comprehensible  by 
reason  and  feeling,  and  approved  by  taste. 

Christian  art,  as  we  have  shown,  was  on  a  less 
correct  scientific  foundation.  It  abandoned  itself 
more  to  feeling  based  upon  faith,  without  at  first 
comprehending  that  true  wisdom  in  all  things  con- 
sists in  discovering  law,  and  obeying  it.  As, 
however,  the  Greek  artist  had  passed  through  this 
phase  of  progress,  it  was  equally  necessary  for 
the  Christian  to  do  the  same  in  the  pursuit  of  his 
ideal.  Two  distinct  stages  of  growth  mark  his 
course  :  first,  the  one  in  which  he  sought,  as  his 
primary  object,  to  symbolize  his  faith ;  secondly, 
when,  the  religious  impulse  having  exhausted  it- 
self, the  reverential  feeling  lost  its  connection  with 
prescribed  forms,  and  reason  began  to  inquire  if 
there  were  no  further  development  for  art.  Out 
of  this  inquiry  has  sprung,  it  is  true,  a  host  of 
e^dls,  —  classical  imitation,  materialism,  mamier- 
ism,  skepticism,  and  the  usual  reactions  attendant 
upon  individual  mind  suddenly  freed  to  follow  its 
own  bias.  But  every  success  or  failure  may  be 
regarded  as  so  much  useful  experience  for  future 
generations.  Art,  in  our  day,  has  the  accumu- 
lated knowledge  of  ancient  and  modern  civiliza- 
tion to  teach  it  wisdom. 

The  best  art  is  that  which  at  once  most  en- 


THE  BEST  ART. 


63 


lightens  our  intellect,  soothes  and  elevates  our 
feelings,  and  awakens  refined  pleasure.  In  pro- 
portion as  there  is  a  want  of  harmony  in  these 
relations,  it  fails  in  its  mission.  Bad  art,  like  that 
of  the  ascetic  school  of  Romanism,  prompts  the 
mind  to  a  love  of  ugliness  and  horror  for  their 
own  sake,  and  is  a  stimulus  to  superstition.  In 
Greece  and  Rome  it  took  the  direction  of  sensual- 
ity and  infidelity,  and  finally  ended  in  corruption 
and  debasement.  All  bad  art  acts  after  the  in- 
stinct of  a  poisonous  reptile.  It  seeks  to  fasci- 
nate its  victims  before  injecting  its  venom.  Our 
own  day  is  saved  from  the  evil  of  the  Renais- 
sant  school  by  the  vital  power  of  free  Christianity 
as  a  progressive  force  to  regenerate  mankind. 

We  have  now  arrived  at  that  period  in  which 
reason  is  more  imperative  than  faith.  It  is  the 
transition-age  between  feeling  and  wisdom.  In- 
quiry is  its  motto.  As  we  investigate,  we  detect 
an  afiinity  between  the  two,  suggestive  of  their 
perfect  union,  when  our  mental  vision  shall  be 
sufiiciently  enlightened  to  comprehend  the  entire 
motive  of  being,  and  our  senses  harmonized  to  its 
loftiest  aims. 

In  the  present  stage  of  art-growth  we  cannot 
look  upon  its  earlier  productions  with  other  than 
a  critical  judgment,  though  still  retaining  a  sym- 
pathy with  their  motives.  The  ideal  in  art  is  a 
comparative  term  of  excellence.  One  man's  in- 
sight or  knowledge  is  the  farthermost  horizon  of 
his  brother ;  just  as,  in  the  imaginative  or  thought 
faculty,  the  remote  possibility  of  an  inferior  in- 
dividuality, even  in  its  super-creative  sense,  is 


64 


THE  IDEAL. 


simply  the  actual  or  natural  of  a  superior.  By 
keeping  this  psychological  fact  in  view,  we  get 
hold  of  a  perfect  clue  to  critical  inquiry,  and  are 
the  better  enabled  to  enjoy  all  things  after  their 
degree  and  kind.  Although  cultivation  sinks  the 
ideal  of  one  person  to  the  level  of  the  natural 
of  another,  the  imagination  continues  to  hold  up 
before  ixie  mind's  eye  the  mirror  of  a  still  supe- 
rior nature,  to  tempt  men  onward  in  the  never- 
ending  pursuit  of  beauty.  Unrealization  is  the 
true  motive-power  of  progress.  The  innate  curi- 
osity of  mind  impels  it  to  constant  inquiry  after 
truth,  led  on  by  persistent  hope  of  final  repose  in 
perfect  work,  —  a  perfection  which  always  seems 
to  be,  but  never  is,  within  its  grasp.  In  the 
search  for  the  divine  no  two  minds  are  precisely 
parallel.  Still,  although  the  focus  of  vision  dif- 
fers in  all,  there  are  general  principles  applicable 
to  every  subject. 

Any  work  which  suggests  the  loftiest  capabili- 
ties of  its  motive,  or  demands  an  active  imagina- 
tion or  sympathy  to  interpret  it,  possesses  the 
germs  of  excellence  ;  but  that  which  forces  the 
feelings  to  apologize  to  reason  for  violations  of 
probabilities  and  possibilities,  and  of  other  rules  of 
a  refined  taste,  is  in  itself  false  art,  and  should 
have  no  influence  outside  of  the  motives  which 
originated  it. 

Of  such  productions  we  have  a  notable  in- 
stance in  the  Pieta  of  Michel  Angelo,  at  St. 
Peter's,  Rome,  a  common  art-motive  of  the  Ro- 
man Church.  This  group  is  simply  a  mutilated, 
naked  corpse  of  a  man  in  an  impossible  position, 


DOMENICHINO'S  ST.  JEROME. 


65 


ill  the  lap  of  a  woman  already  overburdened  with 
drapery.  Nature  does  not  recognize  such  scenes. 
No  mother  sits  holding  the  dead  body  of  her  son, 
disfigured  with  ghastly  wounds,  in  her  arms,  for 
the  plain  reason  that  she  could  not  if  she  would, 
and  what  she  cannot  do  nature  does  not  impul- 
sively suggest.  As  art,  therefore,  this  group  fails. 
If,  however,  the  religious  faculty  can  find  in  it 
any  aid  to  its  piety  by  its  symbolism,  it  is  not 
without  its  use ;  nor  need  the  subject-matter 
blind  us  in  this  or  in  kindred  topics  by  great 
masters  to  the  merits  of  details  or  general  treat- 
ment. 

Domenichino's  St.  Jerome,  of  the  Vatican,  is 
a  similar  violation  of  artistic  rule,  instigated  by 
the  ascetic  side  of  religion.  A  naked,  attenuated, 
disgusting  exhibition  of  worn-out  humanity,  sug- 
gesting a  long  and  painful  life  amid  dirt  and  pri- 
vation ;  the  very  dregs  of  a  man,  so  emaciated 
that  even  the  grave-worms  must  feel  cheated  of 
their  lawful  banquet,  with  posture  and  expression 
corresponding  to  such  an  ending  of  life,  its  for- 
lorn misery  heightened  by  the  contrast  of  plump 
youth,  and  the  rich  attire  of  an  attending  priest ; 
by  his  side,  a  subdued,  spiritless  lion,  emasculated 
of  his  forest  nature  ;  overhe?td,  a  group  of  frohc- 
some,  vulgar  boy-angels ;  the  entire  painting  sen- 
suous in  color  and  feeling,  and  rich  in  natural  and 
architectural  beauty  :  such  is  the  extraordinary 
composition  of  an  artist  who  has  by  it  won  the 
applause  of  Cln-istendom.  In  reality,  his  choice 
of  subject  is  as  faulty  in  regard  to  the  canons 
of  high  art  as  his  treatment  of  it  is  irreconcilable 
5 


66        RAPHAEDS  TRANSFIGURATION. 


to  aestlietic  taste  and  a  proper  understanding  of 
Cliristianity. 

Raphael's  celebrated  Transfiguration,  in  the 
same  room,  violates,  though  in  a  less  conspicuous 
degree,  the  rules  of  art.  In  composition  it  forms 
two  distinct  paintings,  with  no  connection  beyond 
a  forced  meaning.  Although  designed  in  the  prin- 
ciples of  naturalistic  truth,  as  a  picture,  its  per- 
spective is  as  impossible  as  is  its  entire  grouping 
of  personages,  monk  with  Jew,  false  to  the  real 
scene.  The  grace  and  vigor  of  Raphael  are  in- 
deed there ;  but  the  color  is  harsh  and  brown ; 
his  early  simplicity  and  correct  feeling  are  gone ; 
and  this  is  due  to  the  interference  of  ecclesiastical 
power  and  patronage  with  his  taste  aud  knowl- 
edge, causing  him,  as  it  caused  all  other  artists 
similarly  positioned,  to  subject  the  laws  of  art 
to  the  dogmas  of  a  creed,  by  which  bondage  art 
has  always  suffered  and  true  religion  has  never 
gained. 

The  highest  effort  of  Christian  art  must  neces- 
sarily be  to  represent  the  person  of  Cln-ist,  and 
the  thrones  and  powers  of  his  celestial  kingdom. 
Therefore,  the  respective  idealisms  of  the  Clas- 
sical and  Christian  artist  —  the  one  as  shown  in 
mythological  creations,  and  the  other  in  the  at- 
tempt to  prefigure  the  divine  in  the  shape  of  the 
Father,  Son,  Virgin,  or  angelic  host  —  are  fair 
subjects  of  comparison.  In  our  present  analysis 
we  refer  not  to  motive^  but  simply  to  execution. 

Which  has  been  most  successful  in  the  treat- 
ment of  their  subjects  ? 

Sculpture  has  never,  to  our  knowledge,  aspired, 


MICHEL  ANGELO'S  CHRIST. 


67 


as  has  not  unfrequently  painting,  to  portray  the 
first  person  of  the  Trinity,  except  in  a  minor  way, 
as  we  see  in  Luca  della  Robbia,  and  works  of  his 
school.  Why  the  impossibility  of  the  one  should 
have  been  considered  as  the  possibility  of  the 
other,  especially  in  an  inferior  medium,  considered 
in  relation  to  the  majesty,  power,  and  awe  of  the 
divine  presence,  —  for  the  expression  of  which, 
pure  marble,  or,  as  in  Egyptian  art,  granites,  por- 
phyries, jaspers,  and  other  adamantine  rocks  are 
far  more  fitting  than  the  glass  of  the  mosaicist 
or  the  frail  material  of  the  painter,  —  we  are  at 
a  loss  to  know.  But  so  it  is  !  Consequently, 
we  are  obliged,  in  this  comparison,  to  ignore  the 
coarse  representations  of  the  Almighty  of  the 
early  Byzantine  mosaics,  and  the  later  and  more 
painful  failures,  because  sinning  in  the  light  of 
more  knowledge,  of  the  great  masters  in  fresco 
and  oil,  who,  from  the  time  of  Cimabue  to  Ca- 
muccini,  of  our  day,  have  attempted  to  define,  in 
form  and  color,  the  undefinable  and  illimitable, 
and  pass  on  to  those  incarnations  in  sculpture  of 
divine  attributes,  which  are  within  the  legitimate 
scope  of  art. 

Michel  Angelo's  Christ,  of  the  church  of  Santa 
Maria  sopra  Minerva,  at  Rome,  is  less  successful 
than  his  awe-inspiring  Moses.  Instead  of  the 
man  of  sorrows,  submitting  to  earthly  authority, 
yet  of  surpassing  strength  and  beauty  by  virtue 
of  his  divine  spirituality,  chastely  clothed  in  a 
seamless  garment,  misled  by  his  passion  for  ana- 
tomical expression,  the  sculptor  has  made  a  nude, 
bound  athlete,  whose  muscular  proportions  and 


68 


TENERANPS  ANGEL. 


strained  attitude  neutralize  a  somewhat  lovely  and 
appropriate  countenance. 

Of  our  own  times,  Tenerani,  who  ranks  at  the 
head  of  Italian  sculptors,  in  his  colossal  Christ, 
for  St.  Peter's,  has  succeeded  no  better.  The 
drapery  is  well  managed,  but  he  has  represented 
the  Saviour  in  the  act  of  blessing,  with  uplifted 
hands,  and  tumbling  forward  from  his  seat,  ap- 
parently to  the  imminent  risk  of  the  spectators 
being  crushed ;  while  the  sensual  lines  of  the 
mouth  and  the  vulgar  treatment  of  the  hair  de- 
stroy what  divinity  of  character  the  statue  might 
otherwise  possess,  and  make  it  appear  very  much 
like  many  of  the  prosaic  figures  of  the  popes,  in 
whose  company  it  is  destined  to  sit  while  papacy 
endures. 

Tenerani  has,  however,  in  the  Torlonia  chapel 
of  the  Lateran  church,  more  successfully  treated 
the  Descent  from  the  Cross.  The  Virgin's  face 
is  particularly  fine,  and  the  feeling  and  compo- 
sition of  the  group  are  excellent.  His  Angel,  in 
the  church  of  the  Minerva,  is  a  successful  sug- 
gestion, in  sculpture,  of  a  spiritualized  presence. 

Were  we  to  descend  to  the  lesser  orders  of 
heaven's  hierarchy,  we  should  find,  as  with  Nic- 
cola  Pisano,  Ghiberti,  Mino  da  Fiesole,  Dona- 
tello,  Leonardo  da  Vinci,  Thorwaldsen,  and  oth- 
ers, instances  in  which  prophets,  apostles,  and 
saints  have  been  worthily  rendered,  and  may  be 
favorably  compared,  as  far  as  such  objects  admit 
of  comparison,  with  the  productions  of  classical 
art  of  corresponding  dignity  of  position  or  eleva- 
tion of  sentiment,  in  the  light  of  their  respective 


THE  ANGELIC  HOST  OF  HEATHENDOM.  69 


faiths.  But  even  their  dignity  and  holiness  are 
subjected  to  trammels  of  tradition  or  of  symbol, 
by  which  the  artist  is  never  left  wholly  free  to 
work  out  the  entire  power  or  purity  of  his  imag- 
ination. In  this  respect  he  is  not  on  an  equal 
footing  with  his  Greek  brother,  who  looked  not 
so  much  to  history  or  creed  for  his  inspiration,  as 
to  his  own  conception  of  what  a  god  or  incarna- 
tion of  any  particular  attribute  of  nature  or  di- 
vinity should  be  ;  and  thus  in  his  Genii,  Parcse, 
Furies,  Gorgons,  Muses,  Nymphs,  Graces,  Heroes, 
Fames,  and  kindred  creations  of  his  fancy,  — 
the  angelic  host  of  heathendom,  —  or  his  higher 
celestial  beings  and  men  deified,  knowing  no  other 
rule  than  the  promptmgs  of  his  own  genius,  sub- 
jected to  the  established  laws  of  aesthetic  taste, 
he  wrought  in  greater  freedom,  and  attained  to 
a  higher  and  more  varied  ideality. 

Sufficient  evidence  of  this  fact  is  to  be  found 
in  the  average  productions  which  either  epoch 
has  bequeathed  to  us.  In  the  vast  amount  of 
classical  sculpture  now  extant  there  is,  indeed, 
a  large  mass  of  the  poor  and  commonplace,  —  the 
product,  not  merely  of  its  decline,  but  of  the  feeble 
efforts  of  feeble  men  in  its  best  era.  Let  us  con- 
tinue, however,  the  comparison  of  the  general 
character  and  spirit  of  all,  not  vnth  the  imita- 
tive results  of  revived  classicaHsm,  which  must, 
of  necessity,  be  inferior  to  its  teacher,  but  with 
that  which,  being  genuine  Christian  sculpture,  in 
motive  and  direction,  can  be  fairly  brought  into 
comparison  with  Pagan  work,  and  submitted, 
equally  with  it,  to  the  test  of  criticism. 


70  CHRISTIAN  AND  PAGAN  ART, 

The  Christian  statues,  as  we  have  before  re- 
marked, have  the  advantage  of  being  whole,  and 
in  their  proper  places.  Examine  them,  therefore, 
wherever  to  be  seen,  —  whether  topping  the  Lat- 
eran,  surmounting  the  portico  and  colonnade  of 
St.  Peter's,  densely  peopling  the  Cathedral  at 
Milan,  guarding  the  bridge  of  St.  Angelo,  look- 
ing down  from  Giotto's  Campanile  and  the  Gothic 
niches  of  Orsanmichele  upon  the  gay  crowd  of 
Florence,  or  as  they  appeal  to  us  from  the 
ecclesiastical  edifices  of  papal  Christendom  of 
every  age  and  nation,  —  and  then  go  into  the 
museums  of  classical  sculpture,  and  compare,  not 
the  originating  thought,  but  the  freedom,  grace, 
and  spirit  of  execution,  the  beauty,  pose^  and 
action,  the  arrangement  of  draperies,  and  the 
feeling  and  expression  of  each  object  in  relation 
to  its  particular  inspiration,  of  the  Pagan  with 
those  of  the  Christian  era,  and  see  which  as  art, 
irrespective  of  idea,  excels. 

In  the  comparison  we  purposely  exclude  all 
strictly  portrait-sculpture,  whether  of  tomb-work 
or  not,  and  confine  it  to  those  objects  which 
are  either  the  direct  inspiration  of  the  respective 
faiths,  or  are  simply  the  idealizations  of  person- 
ages who,  having  died  without  leaving  any  like- 
nesses of  themselves,  have,  as  it  were,  intrusted 
posterity  with  their  recreation  in  art-forms,  in 
accordance  with  their  posthumous  reputations. 
In  this  respect,  the  prophets  and  apostles  of  Judea 
and  saints  of  Christendom  may  be  fairly  placed 
side  by  side  with  the  demigods  and  other  Pagan 
conceptions  of  Greece  and  Rome.    We  can,  on 


CHRISTIAN  AND  PAGAN  ART.  71 


this  basis,  justly  compare  a  Minerva  or  Jupiter 
of  Pliidias  with  a  Madonna  or  Christ  of  Michel 
Angelo  ;  a  Venus  of  Scopas,  that  of  Milo,  or 
a  Juno  of  Polycletus  with  any  of  the  numerous 
St.  Catherines ;  St.  George  of  Donatello  with 
the  Apollo  de  Belvedere  ;  a  Hercules  with  a  St. 
Christopher ;  a  Faun  of  Praxiteles  with  a  St. 
Babiana  of  Bernini ;  the  Ludovisian  Mars  or 
Juno  with  a  Christ  or  Virgin  of  Sansovino,  or  a 
Santa  Susanna  of  Quesnoy ;  the  Modesty  of  the 
Vatican  with  the  Charity  of  Bartolini ;  and,  final- 
ly, the  entire  figure-sculpture  of  classical  Pagan- 
ism with  that  of  Christendom.  While  awarding 
to  the  best  Christian  art  lofty  idea  and  great  nat- 
uralistic vigor  of  treatment,  and,  as  with  Dona- 
tello, soul-lit  expression  and  a  burning  zeal  that 
seems  to  consume  flesh  as  with  the  fire  of  a  ten- 
fold heated  furnace,  it  is  a  relief  to  turn  from  the 
school  as  a  whole  to  the  antique  Isis,  Minerva, 
Flora,  and  contemporaneous  statues  at  Naples, 
fashioned  in  the  principles  of  beauty.  We  shall 
be  the  less  astonished  at  the  marvellous  success 
of  the  Grecian  artist  if  we  recall  the  fact,  that, 
beside  his  intense  love  of  the  beautiful,  he  was 
often  inspired  by  a  faith,  which,  like  that  of  Fra 
Angelico,  by  prayer  and  devotion,  opened  up  to 
him  celestial  visions  and  special  manifestations 
of  the  favor  of  his  gods  and  their  delight  in  his 
work.  Hercules  vouchsafed  a  vision  of  himself 
to  Parrhasius,  who  painted  him  from  his  divine 
aspect,  as  in  our  own  day  Blake  claims  to 
have  done  of  men  who  left  earth  centuries  ago. 
Ecstatic  inspiration  has  not  been  confined  to  the 


72  CHRISTIAN  AND  PAGAN  ART, 


Eoman  Catholic  artist.  His  Pagan  and  Protes- 
tant brethren  have  been  likewise  favored.  The 
pious  ancients  had  also  their  severe  rules  of  pro- 
priety in  regard  to  religious  art,  —  rules  as  pure 
and  spiritual,  and,  perhaps,  in  the  best  time  of 
their  art,  as  scrupulously  adhered  to,  as  were 
those  of  the  mediaeval  artists  in  all  that  related 
to  theirs.  They  blamed  those  of  their  artists 
who  used  courtesans  for  models  for  their  images 
of  goddesses,  as  severely  even  as  did  the  church 
Christian  artists  for  like  practice,  and  with  as 
much  effect,  if  we  may  judge  from  both  their 
works.  Their  only  entirely  nude  goddess  was  Ve- 
nus, —  nude,  not  in  the  outset  from  sensual  ideas, 
but  as  an  idealization  of  female  beauty.  If  the 
Christian  faith  pledged  its  artist  to  surround  the 
pious  in  death  with  visions  of  just  men  and 
women  made  perfect,  so  the  Pagan  artist  sought 
to  cheer  his  dying  brother  with  consoling  images 
of  the  inevitable  change,  like  those  of  "virgins 
ever  young,"  significant  of  immortal  youth.  Even 
the  Fates  and  Furies  were  thus  represented,  and 
not  as  devils  to  torment.  So  that  if  the  Pagan 
failed  to  equal  the  mediaeval  Christian  in  his  hope 
of  a  heaven,  neither  was  he  tortured  by  equal 
fears  of  a  future  retribution.  These  contrasts  of 
faith  are  plainly  perceptible  in  their  respective 
arts.  Not  a  little  of  the  symbolism  of  pagan- 
ism was  so  complete  and  perfect  of  its  kind 
that  Christian  fancy  has  lovingly  perpetuated  it. 
Cupid  is  immortal,  so  is  Psyche  ;  the  two,  em- 
bracing, denote  the  union  of  body  and  soul.  In- 
deed, with  all  our  spiritual  knowledge  or  feeling, 


DIOGENES, 


7S 


we  have  not  surpassed  the  significant  beauty  of 
Greek  thought  in  its  incarnated  suggestions  of 
immortal  life. 

The  entire  sentiment  of  Greek  art  was  averse 
to  asceticism.  The  bas-relief  of  Diogenes  in  Iiis 
tub  at  Naples  comes  as  near  being  an  exception 
as  anything  we  know  of.  But  how  unlike  the 
Christian  feeling !  Diogenes  chooses  the  city  for 
the  practical  demonstration  of  his  cynical  max- 
ims. He  wishes  to  reform  his  countrymen  by  an 
egotistical  parade  of  his  philosophical  contempt 
X)f  luxury.  But  all  he  asks  even  of  a  king  is 
that  he  shall  not  stand  between  him  and  the  sun. 
He  lives  Hke  a  dog  to  excite  curiosity  and  to 
be  a  perpetual  reproach  to  the  effeminacy  of  his 
fellow-citizens,  whom  he  despises.  Whether  the 
tale  be  strictly  true  or  not,  this  is  the  classical 
art-motive,  as  indicated  by  the  artist. 

Compare  this  with  the  St.  Jerome  of  Agostino 
Carracci,  at  Naples,  and  measure  the  distance  be- 
tween Pagan  and  Christian  asceticism.  The  saint 
is  by  himself  in  a  desolate  wilderness.  No  hu- 
man eye  witnesses  his  self-inflicted  penance  and 
the  stern  subjection  of  his  body  to  the  spiritual 
purification  demanded,  not  of  his  reason,  which 
condemns  it,  but  by  his  faith.  He  has  fled  from 
man  to  be  alone  with  his  God.  It  is  the  salva- 
tion of  his  own  soul,  and  not  the  reformation  or 
reproach  of  his  neighbors,  that  prompts  him  to 
kneel  naked  on  the  hard  rock,  and  to  beat  his 
breast  with  a  sharp  stone,  in  his  anguish  of  con- 
victed sin.  There  is  no  sunshine  for  him  while 
his  soul  is  in  peril ;  no  material  comfort,  however 


74         ST.  JEROME  OF  A.  CARRACCL 


lowly  and  common,  appeals  to  his  sensibility ;  il 
is  alive  only  to  the  eternal  joys  and  horrors  of 
the  future  life,  as  seen  by  his  theological  vision. 
Were  an  imperial  Alexander  to  address  him,  he 
would  not  let  go  by  the  opportunity  to  reason 
with  him  of  the  life  and  judgment  to  come ;  and 
his  eloquence  would  the  more  prick  the  heart 
from  the  deep  sincerity  and  earnestness  of  his 
baptism  of  isolation,  contempt  of  the  joys  of  this 
world,  and  anxiety  to  escape  the  flames  of  the 
hell  he  so  solemnly  announces  to  his  fellow- 
mortals. 

This  painting,  as  a  composition,  is  one  of  the 
best  efforts  of  this  school.  It  shows  not  only  a 
genuine  feeling  of  the  subject,  but  an  apprecia- 
tion of  classical  rule  in  art  not  common  in  the 
treatment  of  kindred  topics  by  Christian  artists. 
The  saint's  head  is  remarkably  fine ;  his  expres- 
sion and  attitude,  as  his  gaze  clings  fixedly  to  the 
crucifix  before  him,  powerfully  suggest  the  char- 
acter of  the  emotions  of  his  stricken  soul.  Our 
sensibilities  are  not  wounded,  nor  is  our  taste 
outraged  by  vulgar  violence  and  coarse  suffering ; 
but,  in  the  action  hinted  at  rather  than  directly 
expressed,  we  have  the  full  force  of  the  anchor- 
ite's dread  penance ;  while  in  his  countenance 
may  be  traced  a  gleam  of  the  ecstatic  hope  and 
promise  in  his  Saviour's  blood  which  underlies 
his  self-abnegation.  The  landscape  is  in  keep- 
ing with  his  feeling,  —  solemn,  wild,  solitary,  and 
mystic,  —  a  fit  haunt  for  an  anguished  though  not 
wholly  despairing  spirit ;  while  in  color  the  picture 
is  singularly  harmonious  with  its  ascetic  motive. 


HEATHEN  AND  CHRISTIAN  GROTESQUE.  75 


Heathen  and  Christian  grotesque  are  no  less 
strikingly  opposite  in  character.  In  the  former^ 
the  sensual,  fanciful,  and  ludicrous  prevail ;  while, 
with  the  latter,  we  have  more  of  religious  mysti- 
cism or  stern  and  gloomy  significance.  To  one 
there  is  a  moral ;  in  the  other,  entertainment. 
Nowhere  in  Christian  art  is  there  a  more  striking 
example  of  the  solemn  spirit  of  its  grotesque 
than  in  the  subterranean  chapel  of  the  Certosa 
convent  near  Florence,  in  a  fresco  of  the  Temp- 
tation and  Fall,  by  an  unknown  artist.  Eve  is 
handing  the  apple  to  Adam.  As  she  lifts  her 
hand,  swiftly  flying  towards  the  two  from  the  high 
heavens,  inclining  rather  toward  the  woman  than 
the  man,  is  a  death's-head,  with  the  lower  portion 
of  the  jaw  gone,  and  wings  attached,  like  those 
given  to  seraphs  and  cherubs,  only  hideously 
stunted,  the  whole  frightfully  suggestive  of  im- 
pending, quick-coming,  omnivorous  evil.  If  the 
Christian  imagination  has  ever  suggested  more  of 
the  consequences  of  Eve's  sin  in  a  single  image, 
so  appropriate  in  every  respect  to  the  moral  to 
be  conveyed,  and  yet  so  natural  in  its  idealism 
of  horror  and  warning,  we  have  still  to  find  it. 

Examples  might  be  indefinitely  multiplied,  from 
the  great  masters  of  both  eras,  to  illustrate  still 
further  the  relative  consideration,  in  the  Classical 
and  Christian  branches  of  art,  which  the  artists 
of  each  attached  to  the  beautiful  in  itself,  as  well 
as  the  essential  difierences  of  their  motives  ;  but 
those  who  are  familiar  with  their  works  can 
readily  continue  the  comparison,  if  desirable. 
They  will  find  that  even  the  greatest  Christian 


76 


IL  PENSEEOSO, 


artists  have  been  successful  only  in  the  degree 
that  they  have  freed  themselves  from  the  restric- 
tions imposed  upon  art  by  its  subjection,  in  choice 
and  treatment,  to  the  dogmatic  ideas  of  the  age. 
In  that  grand  monument  of  Michel  Angelo's 
genius,  II  Penseroso,  in  the  Medici  Chapel  at 
Florence,  and  its  kindred  groups,  we  find  his 
native  greatness  unshackled,  except  by  the  nat- 
ural limitations  of  material.  Faultless,  as  viewed 
by  the  standard  of  a  Phidias,  these  masterpieces 
are  not ;  but  the  grand  creative  sentiment  of  he- 
roic Greek  art,  without  its  complete  harmony  and 
refinement,  is  legibly  stamped  upon  them.  They 
give  the  spectator  new  conceptions  of  the  power 
of  art,  and  the  imagination  is  stimulated  to  pen- 
etrate the  fulness  of  meaning  of  a  genius  that 
suggests  a  breadth  and  depth  kindred  to  Infinity. 


CHAPTER  YIII. 


The  Comparison  of  Classical  and  Christian  Art  continued.  — 
Different  Treatment  and  Love  of  Landscape.  —  Christian 
Art  excels  in  Idea  and  Comprehensiveness. — Mythology 
and  God  the  "  Father  "  as  Art  -  Inspirations.  —  Roman 
Catholic  Art  tends  to  Pol^^theism.  —  Classical  Philosoph- 
ical Art  to  Monotheism.  —  Art  -  Deities  of  the  Roman 
Church.  —  Causes  of  Image-Worship. 

must  be  conceded  that  to  the  Greek  artist 
is  to  be  awarded  the  palm  of  superiority 
^  in  the  more  perfect  identification  of  idea 
and  object,  in  accordance  with  the  strict  demands 
of  high  art,  based  upon  his  supersensuous  ideal- 
ism. Christian  art  failed,  as  we  have  shown,  in 
one  phase  by  its  contempt  for  and  abasement  of 
the  natural  body,  under  the  mistaken  notion  that 
future  happiness  was  to  be  proportioned  to  pres- 
ent misery  and  sacrifice.  The  world,  instead  of 
being  a  place  of  enjoyment  and  happiness,  had 
become  one  of  denial  and  martyrdom.  Eternal 
justice  was  made  intelligible  to  the  common  mind 
jhiefly  by  appealing  to  physical  sensations.  As 
Jlustrations  from  ordinary  nature  to  depict  the 
joy  of  heaven  or  the  torment  of  hell  failed  to 
be  sufiiciently  emphatic  to  arouse  seared  con- 
sciences, the  imaginations  of  poets,  artists,  and 


78    THE  LOVE  SIDE  OF  CHRISTIAN  ART. 

preachers  were  stimulated  to  the  utmost  to  viv- 
idly portray  supernatural  degrees  of  each.  Hence 
the  future  state  of  the  Christian  became  the 
strongest  incentive  to  the  new  and  strange  in  art, 
embodying  not  only  a  greater  scope  for  the  hor- 
rible, but  also  its  reverse. 

As  Fear  had  given  rise  to  a  demoniacal  im- 
agery, so  at  last  did  Love,  by  means  of  art,  hint 
at  a  spiritual  happiness,  such  as  no  religion  had 
ever  proffered  to  man.  No  sooner  did  the  love 
side  of  the  new  faith  begin  to  have  weight,  than 
there  arose  artists  to  make  it  familiar  by  song, 
sculpture,  and  painting.  If  Dante  sang  of  a  ma- 
terial hell,  he  equally  opened  new  and  more  spirit- 
ual heavens  to  those  that  hungered  and  thirsted 
after  righteousness.  Contemporary  with  and  rap- 
idly succeeding  him  were  artists  whose  imagina- 
tions were  purified  and  invigorated  by  this  ever- 
renewing  and  exhaustless  element  of  Christianity, 
Their  topics  were  the  triumphs  of  a  pure  faith, 
love,  hope,  and  charity,  —  the  exchange  of  earthly 
treasures  for  the  golden  crowns  and  dulcet  harps 
of  paradise,  whether  by  martyrdom,  noble  use  of 
life,  or  lingering  suffering,  it  mattered  not,  so 
that  the  good  gifts  of  immortality  were  won.  In 
season  and  out  of  season,  through  perils  of  body 
and  temptations  to  soul,  a  select  and  godly  few 
kept  alive  the  spirit  of  true  Christianity.  Their 
lives  became  the  new  inspirations  of  art.  Spirit- 
ual in  their  aspirations  and  elevated  in  their  un- 
derstandings, their  influence  lifted  it  into  a  new 
field,  more  pure,  lofty,  and  comprehensive  than 
had  ever  dawned  upon  Grecian  intellect.  Instead 


HEAVEN  BROUGHT  DOWN  TO  EARTH,  79 

of  symbolized  powers  of  nature,  or  an  idealized, 
sensuous  humanity,  seeking  to  raise  itself  to  a 
level  with  Olympus  by  the  force  of  the  human 
will,  creating  a  beautiful  and  intellectual  art, 
there  grew  up  a  class  of  men,  who,  in  the  single- 
ness of  faith  in  a  perfect  godhead,  sought  by 
prayer  and  purity  to  draw  down  from  it  into 
their  works  rays  of  its  eternal  and  limitless  joys. 
By  them  art  was  purified  of  its  sensual  dross,  and 
suddenly  arose  clad  in  garments  of  promise  and 
righteousness.  The  stone  of  the  sepulchre  was 
forever  rolled  away ;  and  men  for  the  first  time 
were  made  to  feel  by  the  medium  of  art  that 
there  was  in  store  for  them  immortal  hope,  and  a 
peace  that  passeth  understanding. 

In  this  bringing  down  of  heaven  to  earth, 
the  artistic  success  was  indeed  more  commensu- 
rate to  feeling  than  knowledge.  But  no  ingen- 
uous heart  can  view  the  works  of  Cavallini, 
Giotto,  Laurati,  Simone  Martini,  Orgagna,  Sano 
di  Pietro,  Fra  Angelico,  Francia,  Bellini,"^  and 
other  mediasval  artists,  by  whom  the  purest  relig- 
ious aspects  of  the  human  heart  have  been  most 
touchingly  and  fittingly  rendered,  without  an  in- 
ward confession  of  the  superiority  of  their  spirit- 
ual vision,  in  its  revelation  of  the  moral  possibil- 
ities and  divine  hopes  of  man,  to  the  mythological 
glories  and  expositions  of  Olympian  life  as  re- 
vealed in  the  intellectuality  of  the  more  subtile- 
minded  Greek. 

Grecian  art  being  finite  in  scope  and  aim,  it 
of  necessity  came  to  an  end  with  the  exhaustion 
*  For  an  account  of  their  lives  and  works,  see  Art-Studies. 


80 


CHRISTIAN  LANDSCAPE. 


of  its  mundane  power.  Not  so  with  that  of 
the  artist-prophets  of  Christianity.  Their  range 
was  in  the  Infinite ;  their  prayers  were  to  the 
Omnipotent.  By  them  beauty  was  viewed  in  its 
more  spiritual  sense,  as  the  means  of  expressing 
divine  perfection  and  the  perfect  development 
of  love,  —  not,  as  with  the  Classical  artist,  for  the 
pleasure  of  the  creature,  but  for  the  glory  of  the 
Creator  ;  and  thus  it  was  elevated  to  the  high- 
est purposes,  and  made  the  handmaid  of  holi- 
ness. 

Witness  the  purity  and  simplicity  of  their 
primitive  conceptions  of  landscape,  and  ignoring 
of  all  facts  of  the  natural  world  which  by  their 
ugliness  or  horror  might  suggest  falsehood  or  sin. 
Landscape  to  them  had  a  symbolical  meaning  and 
spiritual  significance.  They  surrounded  their  holy 
personages  with  all  that  was  most  lovely  and  en- 
joyable in  nature,  and  gave  them  an  atmosphere  as 
bright  and  serene  as  their  own  countenances,  which 
reflected,  as  art  never  had  before,  inward  peace 
and  joy.  By  their  devout,  untutored  feeling  they 
rent  the  veil  which  bars  the  sight  of  the  natural 
eye,  and  suggested  the  progress  that  art  may 
make  when  it  shall  unite  to  the  faith  that  gave 
birth  to  their  spiritual  revelations  as  profound  a 
wisdom,  founded  upon  a  knowledge  of  the  prin- 
ciples and  laws  that  connect  the  seen  with  the 
unseen.  Inasmuch,  therefore,  as  the  underlying 
idea  of  Christian  art,  in  its  scope,  moral  purity, 
and  spiritual  significance,  is  so  immeasurably  be- 
yond that  of  Classical  art,  it  also  contains  within 
itself  the  germ  of  a  corresponding  progress.  As 


CLASSICAL  LANDSCAPE, 


81 


yet,  however,  its  specific  superiority  lies  chiefly 
in  its  promise,  while  that  of  the  latter  rests 
upon  its  performance. 

But  it  is  not  in  motive  alone  that  Christian 
art  excels  the  antique.  Its  spirit  is  as  compre- 
hensive as  its  inspiration  is  holy.  Greek  art 
neglected  the  prolific  field  of  landscape.  Natural 
scenery  appears  never  to  have  been  studied  by 
the  ancients  as  a  specific  object  of  art,  but  was 
used  simply  as  an  accessory  to  the  personified 
creations  of  their  pantheistic  and  polytheistic 
thought;  just  as  in  the  earliest  Christian  art  it 
is  employed  only  as  a  simple  background,  or  for 
scenic  efiect  to  sacred  figures,  without  any  at- 
tempt at  representing  it  entirely  and  lovingly  for 
its  own  sake.  But  the  piety  which  disposed  the 
latter  to  seek  to  express  the  tenderest  and  purest 
emotions  of  the  human  heart,  illuminated  by 
Christian  love,  in  time  brought  the  Christian 
artist  into  a  more  direct  contemplation  of  the 
natural  world,  as  an  object  worthy,  in  itself,  of  his 
undivided  skill. 

Those  who  more  immediately  recognized  the 
landscape  and  its  objects  as  direct  motives  of 
art  were  at  first  termed  naturalists,  although  the 
term  was  no  more  applicable  to  them  than  to  the 
artists  of  the  human  figure  who  sought  their 
models  in  natural  forms.  But  the  artistic  love 
which  animates  modern  landscape  is  based  upon 
the  feeling  that  it  is  not,  as  the  ancients  in  gen- 
eral fancied,  the  materialistic  expression  or  dis- 
guise of  many  gods,  but  the  creation  of  the  one 
God, —  his  sensuous  image  and  revelation,  through 
6 


82       GOD  IN  ALL,  LITTLE  AND  GREAT. 

the  investigation  of  which  by  science  or  its  repre- 
sentation by  art  men's  hearts  are  lifted  towards 
him.  From  this  feeling  springs  that  sincere, 
affectionate,  and  devotional  spirit,  so  faithful  to 
the  minutest  fact  of  bird  or  blossom,  and  that 
grand,  solemn,  and  pure  representation  of  earth, 
sky,  and  water,  in  their  elemental  distinctions, 
which  characterize  more  particularly  Carlo  Cri- 
velH,  Benozzo  GozzoH,  Gentile  da  Fabriano, 
Lorenzo  di  Credi,  Perugino,  the  early  Raphael, 
and  Titian,  and  not  only  them,  but  a  host  of 
others  worthy  to  be  kept  in  remembrance.  They 
were  the  originators  of  that  branch  of  art  now 
so  highly  prized,  and  which,  in  the  natural  course 
of  learning,  one  would  expect  to  see  precede  all 
others,  instead  of  being  the  latest  to  be  developed, 
as  it  was  both  in  Greece  and  Italy.  The  walls 
of  rooms  in  Rome  were  decorated  with  histori- 
cal paintings  and  rehgious  subjects  long  before 
landscape  was  employed  for  that  purpose.  In- 
deed, it  was  not  used  by  the  ancients  until  art 
was  in  its  decadence. 

In  art,  as  in  feeling,  we  must  become  little 
children,  if  we  would  enter  the  kingdom  of 
heaven.  As  we  go  back  to  the  simple,  tender, 
and  true  in  nature,  seeing  God  in  his  lesser  as 
well  as  greater  works,  so  we  keep  in  closer  com- 
munion with  truth.  By  recognizing  this  princi- 
ple, following  out  all  the  gradations  of  nature, 
rising  gradually  from  the  inferior  to  superior 
developments,  the  eyes  of  the  ai'tist  are  opened 
by  the  great  law  of  analogy,  so  that  his  inner 
vision  may,  if  he  will,  penetrate  even  the  secrets 


GOD  IN  ART,  AN  IMAGE  OF  MAN.  83 


of  spiritual  life.  As  he  advances  he  will  per- 
ceive a  divine  order  and  correspondence  progres- 
sively flowing  from  divine  wisdom,  and  thus, 
through  forms,  be  led  to  purer  conceptions  of  Him 
whom  all  forms  suggest,  but  are  powerless  to 
embody. 

The  feeling  which  seduces  man  into  fruit- 
less endeavors  to  personify  the  Incommunicable, 
whether  in  art  or  creed,  is  nearly  allied  to  weak- 
ness of  understanding  as  well  as  corruption  of 
heart.  It  originates  in  the  desire  of  the  unde- 
veloped mind  to  reduce  Divinity  to  its  own  stand- 
ard of  intelligence.  Hence  God  must  be  mani- 
fested to  it  in  some  tangible  image,  or  cramped 
into  feeble  phraseology,  instead  of  being  left,  by 
the  action  of  his  spirit  in  his  works,  to  make 
himself  felt  by  the  inward  man. 

God  draws  the  willing  heart  upward  towards 
himself.  Stubborn  man  as  constantly  seeks  to 
drag  Him  down  to  his  own  level,  by  creating  gods 
after  his  own  likeness,  —  beings  sensuous,  falla- 
cious, variable,  partial,  weak,  and  passionate,  hke 
unto  himself,  though  still  his  superior  in  good  and 
evil.  Of  such  a  character,  in  greater  or  less  de- 
gree, were  all  the  common  conceptions  of  heathen 
divinities,  previous  to  Christ's  revelation  of  a  uni- 
versal Father.  Even  the  unimaged  Jehovah  of 
Israel  partook,  in  the  minds  of  the  Jews,  notwith- 
standing the  sublime  and  spiritualized  language  of 
their  prophets,  of  their  own  mental  rudeness  and 
bigotry.  Deities  swathed  and  cradled  in  the  hu- 
man heart  are  possible  subjects  of  art.  Conse- 
quently, it  has  repeatedly  lent  itself  to  idolatry. 


84       ROMAN  CATHOLIC  POLYTHEISM. 

by  providing  Baals  and  Astartes,  golden  calves 
and  sacred  bulls,  in  fine,  any  and  every  object  of 
worship  which  was  acceptable  to  the  popular  un- 
derstanding, or  helpful  to  corrupt  priestcraft.  The 
Israelites,  despite  the  laws  of  Sinai,  bowed  down, 
again  and  again,  before  graven  images.  Like 
Moses,  the  Roman  lawgiver  Numa  forbade  the 
manufacturing  of  representations  of  deities,  either 
in  the  form  of  men  or  beasts,  and  with  as  little 
success.  So  did  Persian  iconoclasts,  in  their  lofty 
conceptions  of  deity.  A  tendency  to  polythe- 
ism, the  result  of  ignorance  and  gross  material- 
ism, obtains,  to  a  lamentable  extent,  among  the 
masses  of  Greek  and  Eoman  Catholics  of  the 
present  day.  They  require  a  visible  representa- 
tion of  their  gods.  The  doctrine  of  the  Trinity, 
as  commonly  understood,  supplies  art  with  its 
means  of  conforming  itself  to  this  unenlightened 
desire  of  the  human  heart.  It  is  true  that  the 
Mahometan,  by  his  fanatical  devotion  to  a  simple 
notion,  avoids  this  phase  of  religious  error ;  but 
his  life  is  sensual  and  his  heaven  sensuous,  be- 
cause his  imagination  is  dogmatically  closed  to 
spiritual  insight. 

The  lower  the  understanding,  the  more  it 
clamors  for  an  external  worship,  and  delights  in 
a  materialized  existence.  Greek  philosophy  was 
indeed  able  to  recognize  the  "  Great  Good*'  as 
the  source  of  all  life,  but  it  was  powerless  to  lift 
the  people  to  the  level  of  its  own  purer  concep- 
tions. Christianity,  from  the  greater  simplicity 
of  its  revelations  and  the  unity  it  maintains  be- 
tween feeling  and  intellect,  as  it  gradually  comes 


''FATHER''  AND  ''SON''  IN  ART,  85 

to  be  understood,  tends  in  a  corresponding  degree 
to  eradicate  idolatry  from  the  earth.  But  until 
the  common  mind  is  developed  up  to  a  plane  of 
being  sufficiently  elevated  to  find  repose  in  per- 
fected spirituality  of  thought,  art,  notwithstand- 
ing its  proneness  to  foster  idolatry,  will  continue 
to  be  largely  employed  as  the  initiatory  teacher 
of  religion. 

To  adequately  represent  the  Christian  idea  of 
"  Our  Father,"  art  thus  far  has  shown  itself  to  be 
comparatively  powerless.  Painting  attempts  it, 
but  never  as  an  object  of  worship.  Wisely  does 
it  respect  this  sentiment ;  for  every  endeavor  has 
but  vulgarized  the  conception,  and  caused  its 
work  to  be  repudiated,  both  as  art  and  religion. 
Nowhere  are  pictures  of  the  Almighty  popular, 
even  among  Romanists.  By  the  Protestants  they 
are  instinctively  rejected  as  something  worse  than 
daring  folly.  Not  even  Michel  Angelo  or  Ra- 
phael could  exalt  the  idea  above  the  image  of  an 
all-powerful  old  man,  majestic,  it  is  true,  but  not 
redeemed  from  the  marks  of  time.  The  Grecian 
Jupiter  is  a  superior  thought,  aesthetically  consid- 
ered, inasmuch  as  he  is  represented  as  the  climax 
of  man ;  humanity  made  perfect,  and  therefore 
incapable  of  change  ;  wise,  serene,  passionless,  and 
yet  containing  all  passion.  Jehovah  in  art  is  too 
much  an  avenging  deity,  too  little  the  "  Father  " 
in  Christ's  sense.  But  if  modern  art  has  been 
unequal  to  this  conception,  it  has  not  been  so  with 
regard  to  Jesus,  the  "  Son."  His  humanity  is 
intelligible,  and  therefore  representable,  and  was 
soon  shaped  into  a  suffering  god.    But  even  his 


86  IMAGE-WORSHIP,  BARRENNESS  OF  HEART 


sympathetic  nature  has  been  found  insufficient  to 
meet  the  cravings  of  the  natural  man  for  a  di- 
vinity still  nearer  allied  to  himself.  Accordingly 
the  Roman  Church  has  deified  the  woman  Mary, 
embodying  in  this  modern  goddess  the  beauty, 
maternity,  and  chastity  of  the  pagan  Venus,  Ho- 
rns, and  Diana,  coupled  with  the  purer  standard 
of  female  character  developed  by  Christianity. 

The  Immaculate  Virgin  is  now  the  most  popu- 
lar object  of  worship  of  Romanism,  whose  ten- 
dency is  to  still  farther  retrograde  from  a  spirit- 
ual faith  by  the  multiplication  of  other  interme- 
diates between  God  and  man,  in  the  shape  of 
saints,  relics,  and  the  numerous  objects  conse- 
crated by  the  Roman  hierarchy  to  the  devotion 
of  its  unenlightened  disciples.  In  this  renewed 
theological  movement,  with  its  consequent  athe- 
ism on  the  one  hand  and  increasing  polytheistic 
feeling  on  the  other,  may  be  detected  the  dawn- 
ing decrepitude  of  papacy,  as  an  effete  system, 
unsuited  to  the  riper  requirements  of  the  human 
race.  It  presages  a  mental  revolution,  out  of 
which  religion  and  art  shall  emerge  with  re- 
newed vigor  for  a  fresh  cycle  of  progress.  Mind 
demands  an  inward,  living  faith.  Externals  in 
religion  are  everywhere  losing  their  original  sig- 
nificance and  authority.  The  necessity  of  image- 
worship  denotes  barrenness  of  heart.  Nowhere 
are  madonnas  and  crucifixes  more  abundant  than 
in  the  haunts  of  licentiousness  and  amid  the 
homes  of  banditti.  In  proportion  as  the  inner 
life  is  sinful  and  ignorant  does  it  put  faith  in 
idols  and  talismans.    After  the  same  manner,  the 


WHEN  ART  SUGGESTS  GOD.  87 


general  immorality  or  insecurity  of  a  country 
may  be  estimated  by  the  abundance  of  its  police, 
prisons,  glass -incrus ted  walls,  iron  bars,  and  thief- 
traps  ;  also  by  the  extreme  caution  with  which 
private  property  is  guarded  from  the  public  eye. 
When  the  human  mind  rises  above  the  level  of 
image-worship,  art  improves  by  being  restricted 
to  its  legitimate  sphere.  Animated  by  loftier 
views  of  God,  it  perceives  more  clearly  its  duties 
and  capacities,  and  aspires,  not  to  represent  the 
Unrepresentable,  but  to  suggest  his  attributes. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


Architecture,  the  Culmination  of  Art,  is  to  Man  what  Nature 
is  to  God.  —  Nature  not  Perfect,  but  Progressive.  —  Defini- 
tion of  Perfection. 

HE  culmination  of  plastic  art  is  architect- 
ure. Comprehending  all  other  art,  it  is 
at  once  its  beginning  and  end,  its  primary 
purpose  and  its  full  knowledge.  Singly,  painting 
and  sculpture  address  themselves  to  man  socially. 
They  are  individual  thoughts,  speaking  to  individ- 
ual souls,  and  men  find  in  them  companionship  as 
they  accord  with  their  particular  affinities.  We 
look  at  them  specifically  as  revelations  of  one 
human  being  to  another,  in  friendly  speech.  True, 
we  may  misapprehend,  by  not  putting  ourselves 
at  the  same  point  of  vision  as  the  speaker,  and 
therefore  do  him  injustice  and  ourself  a  wrong, 
because  it  is  only  by  receiving  truth  in  the  sense 
that  it  is  uttered  that  we  can  appreciate  the  in- 
tended instruction.  To  some  a  lamb  has  only 
the  savor  of  mint-sauce  ;  with  others  it  is  incar- 
nated innocence  ;  while  a  few,  like  Swedenborg, 
see  in  its  snowy  fleece  and  dainty  limbs  a  corre- 
spondence with  some  divine  dogma  or  celestial 
joy.  So  a  pigeon  to  one  person  symbolizes  a 
god,  and  to  another  suggests  a  pie.    Bread  and 


THE  CULMINATION  OF  ART.  89 


wine  are  Christ's  flesh  and  blood,  to  be  approached 
only  with  awe  and  reverential  worship,  when  held 
aloft  by  a  priest ;  but  if  shown  by  an  inn-keeper 
to  the  same  individual,  they  simply  excite  carnal 
appetites.  The  essential  difference  of  things  lies, 
therefore,  within  ourselves.  Every  distinction  is 
true  in  itself,  but  all  distinctions  cannot  be  true  at 
the  same  moment  to  ourselves.  We  accept  each 
according  to  the  predominating  affinity  of  thought, 
passion,  or  sentiment.  Art  approaches  us  in  a 
like  way,  presenting  a  scale  ranging  from  the  tan- 
gible and  organic  to  the  deep  mysteries  of  the 
Godhead.  As  the  animal,  intellectual,  or  spirit- 
ual nature  predominates  in  our  faculties,  so  do 
we  receive  in  kind  ;  and  the  same  object  may  be 
stone  to  one,  meat  to  another,  science  to  a  thu-d 
person,  and  spiritual  sustenance  to  a  fourth. 

Architecture  is  comprehensive  in  the  same  sense 
as  nature.  Indeed,  it  is  to  man  the  material  ex- 
pression of  his  mind,  as  nature  is  that  of  the  mind 
of  God.  It  speaks  to  us,  unless  we  study  it  by 
detached  parts,  as  one  great  whole,  as  we  view 
a  landscape.  Mere  building  is  the  anatomy  or 
geological  structure,  founded  on  strict  science ; 
while  sculpture  and  painting  unite  to  cover  it,  as 
vegetation  clothes  the  earth,  with  forms  and  col- 
ors, that  suggest  alike  the  sensuous  harmonies  of 
material  things,  and  the  loftiest  aspirations  of  the 
human  soul.  We  view  architecture,  therefore,  in 
its  noblest  efforts,  as  the  universal  art,  not  only 
because  it  includes  all  others,  but,  like  the  struct- 
ure of  the  earth  itself,  while  exhibiting  infinite 
variety,  it  refers  all  production  to  a  common 


90      NATVRE  IS  GOD' 8  ARCHITECTURE, 

cause.  By  architecture  the  Almighty  has  pro- 
vided for  man  scope  for  his  noblest  development 
of  beauty  in  matter.  As  he  uses  the  means  given, 
so  does  he  make  his  strength  and  freedom  felt  to 
the  entire  race.  Hence  it  is  that  his  greatest  works 
have  the  effect  of  the  corresponding  efforts  of  na- 
ture. Like  vast  expanses  of  glorious  landscape, 
mountain  grandeur,  and  the  solemn  ocean,  they 
thrill,  lift,  or  subdue  our  spirits  to  their  own  moods. 
In  the  presence  of  noble  architecture  we  are  con- 
scious of  a  greater  degree  of  spiritual  life,  for  men 
recognize  in  architectural  greatness  the  spirit  of 
something  akin  to  their  own  souls.  In  the  degree 
that  our  intelligence  is  cultivated,  are  we  awed  or 
elated  at  its  suggestiveness  of  power,  beauty,  and 
wisdom. 

Nature  bears  towards  God  another  similitude 
with  architecture  to  man.  Both  are  the  material 
evolvement  of  a  common  principle  of  construc- 
tion. Man's  handicraft  grows  out  of  God's  cre- 
ation, through  analogy,  and  for  like  purposes ; 
namely,  first,  to  manifest  himself  spiritually; 
and,  secondly,  for  uses  in  connection  with  physi- 
cal being.  God  wills,  and  nature  appears.  It  is 
his  speech  for  man  to  interpret,  and  thereby  learn. 
Without  it,  man  could  have  no  existence,  for  it  is 
the  germ  of  his  being.  God  changes  not;  but 
his  work,  or  material  nature,  does  change  its  as- 
pect towards  man,  by  man's  influence  upon  it, 
and  by  the  interaction  of  its  own  laws,  in  accord- 
ance with  its  revolving  necessities.  Nature,  as 
we  see  it,  is,  therefore,  no  more  the  final  perfec- 
tion of  God's  work  than  is  our  architecture  the 


NATURE  IS  NOT  GOD'S  BEST  WORK.  91 


climax  of  man's  ultimate  capacities.  Both  are 
in  a  condition  of  development,  the  former  adapt- 
ing itself  gradually  to  the  increasing  and  more 
elevated  wants  of  man,  through  internal  revo- 
lution and  the  stimulus  of  his  science,  and  the 
latter  varying  with  the  several  unfoldings  of  his 
hopes  and  knowledge.  Nature  does  its  duty  in- 
exorably, because  directly  under  the  guidance  of 
a  divine  will.  Man's  will  being  self-poised,  his 
course  fluctuates,  though  its  general  direction  is 
onward.  Yet,  as  all  nature  is  a  struggle,  under 
a  given  organic  impetus,  to  evolve  out  of  the 
lower  a  higher  plane  of  being,  it  follows  that, 
alike  with  man's  external  organization,  all  the 
inferior  conditions  of  matter  are  subjected  to  hos- 
tile influences,  which  mar  their  beauty,  infringe 
their  liberty,  and  prey  upon  their  existence. 
Lions'  cubs  die  from  teething,  the  same  as  in- 
fants. The  perfect  specimen  of  any  kind  of  life 
has  yet  to  be  consummated.  By  perfect,  we 
mean  free  from  liability  of  change  or  death,  as 
being  the  ultimate,  in  beauty  and  functions,  of  its 
class. 

Everything  that  correctly  responds  to  the  mo- 
tive of  its  being  may  be  said  to  be  perfect  in  the 
sense  of  fulfilling  its  law.  Nature  is  prolific  of 
wondrous  beauty,  order,  and  health,  and  contains 
within  herself  all  that  we  need,  or  are  qualified  to 
receive  and  rightly  use  with  our  present  limited 
faculties.  In  calling  nature  imperfect,  we  mean, 
simply,  that  such  is  her  condition  by  the  divine 
law  of  progress  in  reference  to  higher  purposes, 
for  which  her  present  are  but  initiatory.    It  ia 


92  SYMBOLISM  OF  THINGS, 


heresy  to  talk  of  nature  as  perfect  in  respect  to  its 
author.  What,  God's  work  finished !  God  ex- 
hausted !  He  is  the  Creator.  Creation  as  much 
goes  on  to-day  as  it  did  eternities  ago,  and  will  go 
on  for  eternities  to  come.  Arrest  creation,  and 
God  is  not. 

The  common  cant  which  would  exalt  material 
nature  so  above  man  in  finish  and  uses,  has  no 
other  foundation  than  a  mawkish  sentiment  or 
false  ideas  of  the  natural  world.  Man  himself  is 
nature,  promoted  to  free-will.  His  two  loves, 
Utility  and  Beauty,  are,  in  reality,  correlative 
terms,  and  each  comparative.  That  is  to  say, 
nature,  through  every  gradation,  unites  the  high- 
est degree  of  the  one  with  the  highest  degree 
of  the  other  compatible  with  the  object  in  view. 
Nay,  more  !  Her  forms  are  so  significant  of  an 
interior,  vital  essence,  that  precious  stones,  flowers, 
and  all  that  she  presents  of  loveliness  or  repug- 
nance, have,  by  universal  consent,  a  language  in 
harmony  with  their  qualities,  which  speaks  to  us 
most  eloquently,  through  types,  symbols,  and  far- 
reaching  significance.  It  is  the  conscience  of 
things  speaking  to  our  conscience  ;  like  spirit- 
wise  magnetically  attracted  to  like,  as  deep 
calleth  to  deep.  By  nothing  does  man  more 
thoroughly  manifest  the  afiinity  between  shape 
and  spirit  than  by  architecture. 


CHAPTER  X. 


Analogy  between  Nature  and  Architecture,  as  the  respective 
Creations  of  God  and  Man.  —  Life-Motives  of  Nations  to 
be  read  in  their  Architecture.  —  Relation  of  Art-Monuments 
to  the  Religious  or  Governing  Thoughts  in  Central  Amer- 
ica, Mexico,  Peru,  China,  Hindostan,  Egypt,  Assyria.  — 
The  Peculiar  Inspiration  of  the  Earliest  Architecture. — 
Pelasgic.  —  Etruscan.  —  Grecian.  —  Roman.  —  Romanesque, 
Lombard,  Byzantine.  —  Gothic.  —  Meaning  and  Aim.  — 
Defects  .  and  Causes.  —  Influence  of  the  Roman  Church 
over  it.  —  Renaissant  and  Palatial  Styles. 

^^^HE  analogy  between  nature  and  archi- 
^fi^^  tecture,  as  the  respective  creations  of 
v^^^^^^  God  and  man,  embodying  in  sensuous 
forms  and  hues  the  characteristic  thought  of  each 
as  inspired  by  a  definite  purpose,  should  be  atten- 
tively considered  in  order  to  arrive  at  a  just  solu- 
tion of  the  degree  of  free-will  permitted  to  the 
latter  by  the  common  Creator  of  nature  and  man. 
We  perceive  in  all  matter,  however  rude,  evi- 
dence of  fixed  design.  The  materials  with  which 
God  has  strewn  the  world  are  all  instinctive  with 
a  life  proportioned  to  a  twofold  end.  First,  that 
which,  having  nature  itself  only  in  view,  illus- 
trates the  divine  science  of  creation,  growth,  and 
revolution,  independent  of  man,  as  being  wholly 
beyond  his  control,  although  in  structural  organi- 


94 


NATURE  AND  ARCHITECTURE, 


zation  so  greatly  his  inferior.  With  or  without 
his  will  or  observation,  the  plant  grows,  the 
beaver  builds,  the  rock  becomes  soil ;  mountains 
prepare  their  reservoirs  of  mud-water  to  fertilize 
the  earth,  and  fulfil  their  duty  as  atmospherical 
scavengers  ;  volcanoes  continue  their  fiery  func- 
tions of  safety-valves  to  the  globe  ;  storm  and 
calm,  darkness  and  sunshine,  in  fixed  order,  suc- 
ceed to  each  other ;  doves  coo,  wolves  snarl,  ser- 
pents gather  their  stores  of  poison  as  instinctively 
as  the  bees  honey ;  deserts  and  jungles  form  and 
disappear ;  planets  and  stars  move  sublimely  and 
regularly  in  their  appointed  orbits  through  infinite 
space,  missing  no  second  of  their  given  time ;  in 
short,  all  that  man  sees  is  beyond  his  power  to 
create,  and  is  both  the  object  and  subject  of  an 
unconscious  science,  so  lofty  and  far-reaching  that 
during  his  long  sojourn  upon  earth  he  has  but 
detected  the  simplest  of  its  laws. 

The  relation  man  has  to  this  side  of  nature  is 
limited  to  discovery.  He  can  neither  add  to,  sub- 
tract from,  nor  vary  in  the  smallest  degree,  that 
which  God  directly  cares  for.  Unequal  in  organic 
spirit  to  man,  matter  by  itself  is  not  susceptible 
of  choice,  and  consequently  must  obey  the  im- 
pulsive force  of  its  being. 

Secondly,  as  subservient  to  the  higher  purposes 
unfolded  in  the  creation  of  man,  matter  is  made 
subject  to  the  impressions  of  his  mind.  Its  king- 
dom is  given  to  him  for  the  expansion  of  his 
creative  faculties,  and  to  receive  the  stamp  of  his 
ideas.  In  endowing  man  with  superior  mental 
attributes,  God  was  virtually  bound  to  leave  him 


LIFE-MOTIVES  OF  ARCHITECTURE,  95 


liberty  of  choice,  and  a  medium  of  expression  for 
his  self-development.  By  the  secondary  law  and 
plastic  character  of  nature,  man,  the  soul,  is  con- 
stituted the  master.  Being  akin  to  matter,  he  is 
himself  subjected  to  her  general  laws  ;  yet  she  is 
compelled,  by  the  superiority  on  his  side  of  the 
divine  agencies  that  regulate  their  common  ex- 
istence, to  become  the  instrument  by  which  he 
manifests  his  own  progress.  At  his  bidding,  light 
and  heat  burst  forth  from  the  cold,  opaque  rock, 
melody  issues  from  the  dumb  ore,  rich  color  from 
the  brown  earth,  and  each  dumb  or  living  thing 
obeys  his  creative  will. 

To  get  at  the  prevailing  life-motive  of  any 
epoch,  we  must  read  its  architecture,  as  well  as 
its  literature.  The  former  is  the  monumental 
expression  of  the  latter.  In  either  case,  we  have 
to  do  with  its  superior  minds.  A  nation  soon 
recognizes  in  the  creative  intellect  of  its  most 
gifted  sons  the  quality  and  extent  of  its  own 
feelings  and  aspirations,  and  finds  in  individual 
genius  the  possible  standard  and  direction  of  the 
race.  As  the  great  mind  sings,  talks,  paints,  or 
builds,  so  the  common  mind  follows  in  its  wake, 
finally  adopting  as  its  own  the  truths  that  are 
first  stamped  with  its  master's  effigy. 

Several  races  have  left  no  other  literature  than 
their  architecture ;  showing  that,  in  the  usual 
course  of  development,  the  artistic  expression  of 
mind  precedes  the  written  or  abstract.  Men 
carve,  paint,  and  build  before  they  invent  letters, 
and,  as  we  perceive  in  Greece  and  mediseval  Eu- 
rope, attain  a  lofty  standard  in  art  previous  to 


96 


CENTRAL  AMERICA, 


discovering,  as  by  printing,  how  to  easily  and 
cheaply  preserve  and  disseminate  thought. 

Amid  the  forests  of  Central  America  we  find 
the  architectural  debris  of  Indian  races  that  had 
made  a  considerable  advance  towards  civilization,  . 
without  other  inspiration  than  their  own  inborn 
energies,  for  they  were  without  the  advantage  of 
intercourse  with  other  progressive  peoples.  Of 
their  religion  we  know  scarcely  anything  ;  but, 
judging  from  their  uncouth  sculpture,  crude 
paintings,  and  barbarous  ornamentation,  inter- 
mingled with  an  architecture  that  survives  only 
in  rude  forms  or  abortive  attempts  at  beauty, 
strange  and  defying  curiosity  as  to  practical 
uses,  without  evidence  of  refined  taste  or  culti- 
vated intellect,  we  must  conclude  that,  mentally 
and  morally,  they  were  but  upon  a  par  with  their 
semi-barbarous  monuments. 

Mexico  and  Peru,  whose  civilizations  were  so 
lauded  by  the  unlettered  soldiers  of  Cortez  and 
Pizarro,  have  left  scarcely  higher  indications  of 
themselves.  Judging  from  the  European  stand- 
ard of  intellectual  growth,  the  aborigines  of 
these  countries  were,  at  the  best,  but  superior 
races  of  savages,  with  no  intellectual  cohesion  or 
advanced  notions  of  religion.  The  consequence 
was  that  their  institutions  vanished  like  wax  in 
a  furnace,  before  the  vigorous  assault  of  a  few 
civilized  white  adventurers.  The  native  superi- 
ority of  one  race  over  another  has  never  been 
more  emphatically  shown  than  in  these  conquests. 
Of  the  art  of  the  subdued  Americans  nothing  has 
survived,  except  a  few  grotesque  specimens  of  a 


MEXICO  AND  PERU. 


97 


pictorial  language  of  almost  infantile  simplicity 
of  design  and  complexity  of  arrangement,  a  few 
roads,  some  stone  buildings  or  walls,  without 
other  pretensions  than  rude  strength,  and  coarse, 
ugly  carvings  and  sculptures,  or  pottery,  the  hid- 
eous character  of  which  in  the  one  nation,  and  the 
abortive  attempts  at  the  representation  of  natural 
objects  in  the  other,  aptly  illustrate  in  both  their 
respectively  sanguinary  or  despotic  faiths  and 
governments,  and  the  nature  of  the  abstract  ideas 
upon  which  they  were  based. 

The  material  objects  of  our  love  or  veneration 
have,  by  a  law  of  affinity  from  which  we  cannot 
escape  if  we  would,  a  definite  correspondence  to 
our  ideals  of  beauty  and  truth.  It  requires, 
therefore,  but  a  glance  at  the  images  and  sculp- 
ture these  peoples  loved  and  adored,  to  perceive 
how  erroneous  were  their  conce];^tions  of  art  and 
divinity.  A  few  rays  of  light  had  indeed  pene- 
trated their  minds,  as  may  be  gathered  from  their 
moral  maxims,  and  as  may  be  seen  in  their  im- 
perfectly developed  feeling  for  beauty  in  some  of 
their  designs  for  architectural  ornamentation  and 
domestic  purposes  ;  but  these  were  exceptional, 
and  served  only  to  make  the  prevailing  darkness 
more  gloomy.  The  world  has  lost  nothing  in 
religious  knowledge  by  the  disappearance  of  their 
faiths ;  nor  has  art  anything  to  regret  in  the  ruin 
of  their  architecture  and  the  melting  into  coin  of 
their  sacred  vessels.  Had  there  been  in  either 
any  vahie  beyond  the  material,  the  age  in  which 
they  were  made  known  to  Europeans,  being 
quickened  by  art,  would  have  recognized  their 
7 


98 


CHINA, 


claims  and  sacredly  preserved  them.  We  need 
no  fact  more  demonstrative  of  the  absence  of  ar- 
tistic value  in  the  immense  quantities  of  wrought 
gold  and  silver  sent  to  Europe  from  these  coun- 
tries after  their  conquest,  than  that  all  went  di- 
rectly to  the  crucible,  while  the  contemporary  art 
of  Cellini  and  his  scholars  is  still  sacredly  guarded 
as  the  heirloom  of  nations.  The  indigenous  art 
and  civilization  of  America,  having  taken  a  wrong 
direction,  succumbed  as  soon  as  they  came  in  con- 
tact with  more  powerful  truths  and  greater  crea- 
tive energies. 

China  presents  a  more  elevated  artistic  devel- 
opment, and  consequently  a  riper  civilization  ;  but 
its  standard  is  so  inferior  to  the  Christian,  that 
nothing  but  its  remoteness  preserves  it  from  the 
fate  of  the  native  American  races.  Its  condition 
is  as  unvarying  as  its  fantastic  grotesque  art, 
which  so  graphically  represents  its  intellectual 
and  religious  ideas,  —  an  arbitrary  compound  of 
sensualism  and  empty  maxims,  based,  like  its 
pagoda  architecture,  broadly  and  firmly  upon  the 
earth,  and,  like  it,  ever  narrowing  and  growing 
lighter  and  curling  downward,  as  if  reluctant  to 
mount  heavenward. 

The  indigenous  Hindoo  architecture  is  a  gro- 
tesque and  capricious  interblending  of  massive 
strength,  feminine  delicacy,  and  demoniacal  ugli- 
ness, —  a  rude  jumble  of  truth  and  error,  in  every 
conceivable  form  of  grandeur,  inspiration,  elabo- 
rate and  symbolical  ornamentation,  that  Oriental 
imaginations,  steeped  in  mysticism  and  revolving 
within  sacredly  prescribed  circles  of  thought, 


HIND  0  ST  AN, 


99 


could  create.  It  addresses  itself  to  the  sensuous 
religious  idea,  and  is  allied  to  the  Egyptian  in  its 
metaphysical  characteristics.  The  latter  is,  how- 
ever, more  grandly  spiritual.  Like  its  rigid, 
limb-bound  statuary,  it  hints  at  great  hidden 
truths,  struggling  towards  more  perfect  utterance. 
The  symbolism  of  Egyptian  architecture  is  deep 
and  grand,  its  tendency  lofty  and  soul-elevating ; 
but  its  speech,  like  its  creative  faith,  is  enigmat- 
ical, and  its  spirit,  as  its  intellect,  kept  studiously 
veiled,  as  if  more  inclined  to  doubt  than  to  be- 
lieve, yet  striving  to  impose  itself  as  absolute 
truth  upon  the  people.  Like  the  older  Hindoo, 
it  is  mysterious  and  sepulchral,  delighting  in 
caves  and  dark  passages,  gloomily  torch  or  sun 
lighted,  reflecting  from  bright  colors  and  quaint, 
stiff,  gigantesque  sculptures,  gleams  of  art-visions 
which  must  have  puzzled  and  awed  the  common 
mind,  without  inspiring  it  with  intellectual  light 
or  divine  hope. 

The  oldest  art-monuments  are  those  of  Egypt, 
dating  back  we  know  not  how  many  centuries 
before  Abraham.  Egyptian  art,  like  that  of 
Oriental  nations  in  general,  is  chiefly  character- 
ized by  immutability.  Its  character  remains 
essentially  the  same  through  its  long  life  of  more 
than  thirty  centuries.  Details  vary  in  different 
epochs,  but  never  sufficiently  to  impart  to  it  the 
progressive  spirit  of  Greek  art.  Freedom  and 
poetical  imagination  never  lent  it  soul-light.  It 
never  aspired  to  be  the  exponent  or  personifica- 
tion of  a  heroic  mythology,  nor  did  it  ever  ally 
itself  to  sensuous  beauty,  but  ever  maintained  its 


100 


EGYPT. 


dry,  dogmatical,  practical,  domestic  aspect,  dealing 
in  metaphysical  abstractions,  grand  stereotyped 
personifications,  or  the  homely  details  of  common 
life  and  ordinary  portraiture.  Both  painting  and 
sculpture  were  strictly  subordinated  to  architect- 
ure. Neither  enjoyed  a  distinct,  independent 
existence,  nor  were  they  permitted  to  express  ac- 
tive passions  or  emotions,  but  confined,  in  paint- 
ing, to  a  system  of  crude,  strong,  positive  color- 
ing, not  inharmonious  in  its  prismatic  contrasts, 
telhng  stories  after  the  manner  of  a  child's  book 
of  tales,  and  in  sculpture  to  rigid  symmetry  and 
an  unvarying  repetition  of  stiff  postures  and  a 
mystical  aspect  of  features.  Of  statuesque  groups 
there  are  but  two  known,  each  of  them  of  a  do- 
mestic character :  one,  a  husband  and  wife,  sit- 
ting affectionately  together  on  the  same  seat ;  in 
the  other,  the  father  alone  sits,  while  his  family 
stand  around  him.  In  fine,  Egyptian  art  is  barren 
of  individual  freedom  of  thought  or  variety  of 
expression.  It  had  innate  capacity  for  better 
things  ;  but  inasmuch  as  the  Egyptian  mind  ig- 
nored freedom  and  beauty,  and  isolated  itself,  so 
far  as  it  could,  from  all  foreign  and  progressive 
influences,  it  became,  like  an  embalmed  corpse, 
of  value  only  as  a  record  of  the  dead  past. 

Assyrian  architecture  was  in  spirit  the  Eenais- 
sant  or  Palatial  of  Oriental  antiquity,  sensual, 
lordly,  glorifying  the  ruler,  and  surrounding  him 
with  the  pomp  and  luxury  of  state.  Its  chief 
characteristic  was  man-worship,  with  its  concom- 
itant principle  of  arbitrary  power.  It  had  more 
freedom  and  grace  than  that  of  Egypt,  although 


PURITAN  ART-HATERS. 


101 


confining  painting  and  sculpture  exclusively  to 
architectural  purposes.  In  its  grotesque  we  no- 
tice purer  design  and  more  legitimate  use  than 
are  apparent  in  its  modern  successor. 

Those  nations  which,  from  a  rigid  principle  of 
faith,  refused  to  embody  their  conceptions  of  di- 
vinity in  art,  in  general  may  be  said  to  have  had 
no  distinguishing  architecture,  if  we  except  the 
Saracens,  whose  active  intellects  for  a  while  over- 
came the  prevailing  sensual  stupor  of  their  creed, 
and  gave  play  to  their  imaginations  in  the  crea- 
tion of  styles  which,  while  they  protested  against 
image-worship,  contained  within  themselves  a  lux- 
uriance of  beauty  that  has  made  them  a  delight 
and  wonder  even  to  the  Christian  world.  But  the 
fanatic  protestants  against  graven  images  of  all 
epochs,  the  Jews  of  old,  the  Turks  of  the  Middle 
Ages,  and  the  Puritans  and  Quakers  of  our  day, 
have  invariably  either  contemned  art  outright,  or, 
when  driven  to  it  by  the  necessity  of  localizing 
worship,  have  restrained  themselves  to  architect- 
ural plagiarisms,  or  the  rudest  and  most  unsightly 
of  edifices.  Painting  and  sculpture  were  forbid- 
den the  Jews,  because  they  might  lead  to  idol- 
atry. The  Turks  invent  nothing,  but  take  to 
themselves  the  remains  of  Christian  and  Sara- 
cenic art ;  while  most  Protestant  sects,  in  their 
ignorance  or  disregard  of  the  aesthetic  sentiment, 
have  been  content  to  worship  in  whitewashed 
"  meeting-houses,"  from  which  all  sensuous  sym- 
bols of  divine  beauty  are  rigorously  banished, 
lest  they  should  debase  the  purely  spiritual  con- 
ception of  God;  or  else  they  plagiarize  incon- 


102 


ARAB  MONOTHEISM. 


gruous  bits  of  architecture  from  their  Roman 
Catholic  or  Pagan  ancestors,  uniting  them  into 
buildings  which  exhibit  a  medley  of  shop,  bank, 
cafe,  storehouse,  and  lecture-room,  or  whatever 
proclaims  the  predominance  of  trade,  with  only 
now  and  then  a  gleam  of  spiritual  significance  in 
some  isolated  form  or  feature,  sufficient  to  show 
that  the  germ  of  worship  is  not  wholly  dead  in 
the  builders. 

Undoubtedly,  independent  of  religious  faith, 
there  is  an  innate  artistic  inequilibrium  of  race, 
which  greatly  modifies  both  the  quality  and  quan- 
tity of  art-development  among  difierent  peoples. 
The  old  Arab  or  Shemitic  tribes,  the  Jews, 
Syrians,  and  Phoenicians,  added  nothing  to  the 
world's  art,  nor  have  they  left  original  monuments 
of  any  kind.  Such  art  as  they  needed  they  bor- 
rowed from  surrounding  nations.  Their  artistic 
feeling  vented  itself  in  sensuous,  spiritualized 
poetry,  in  abstract  ideas  and  lofty  conceptions  of 
divinity,  based  upon  monotheism.  Notwithstand- 
ing their  frequent  relapses  into  idolatry,  —  during 
which  they  worshipped  idols,  through  the  prin- 
ciple of  fear,  of  the  ugliest  description  and  the 
most  demoniacal  character,  —  a  belief  in  one 
Supreme  Being,  not  to  be  represented  by  human 
agency,  was  their  ruling  thought,  and  the  one 
that  has  survived  all  apostasies,  gradually  extend- 
ing its  domain  over  neighboring  races.  Governed 
chiefly  by  feeling,  of  narrow  intellects,  and  pos- 
sessing firm  and  positive  religious  intuitions,  which 
in  general  connected  art  with  idolatry,  fanatical 
from  isolation  and  faith,  it  is  no  matter  of  surprise 


ARCHITECTURE  AS  FORCE.  103 

that  the  Arab  tribes,  having  no  aptitude  of  race 
for  plastic  art,  should  have  remained  stationary  in 
their  civilization  and  indifferent  to  the  example 
of  European  peoples.  Through  individuals  of 
this  spiritually  impressible  race  mankind  has, 
however,  received  its  divinest  truths ;  so  that 
from  them,  as  selected  instruments  of  the  Great 
Will,  constantly  proceeds  an  ever-increasing  in- 
fluence for  moral  good  over  the  destinies  of  all 
men ;  and  thus  they  have  been  made  to  bear 
the  most  important  part  thus  far  unfolded  in  the 
history  of  humanity. 

Architecture  first  manifests  itself  in  pure 
strength  or  force.  Its  earliest  forms  are  rude 
and  ponderous,  as  if  the  builders  sought  to  eter- 
nize themselves  in  matter.  Of  this  character  are 
the  Pyramids  and  the  oldest  temples  of  Egypt 
and  India,  the  equally  ambitious  but  less  intelli- 
gible sacred  structures  of  the  aboriginal  races  of 
the  warm  regions  of  the  Americas,  and  the  Cy- 
clopean and  Pelasgic  remains  of  Europe.  So 
successful  have  been  the  authors  of  these  works, 
that,  although  they  precede  all  other  architectural 
types  of  civilization,  the  lapse  of  ages  leaves  upon 
them  a  freshness  and  structural  perfection  which 
the  later  and  lighter  efforts  of  subsequent  peoples 
have  failed  to  retain.  The  principle  of  durability 
has  been  fully  secured,  and  these  monuments  exist 
as  literally  the  sepulchres  of  their  erectors  ;  for 
the  little  we  know  of  them  is  due  to  the  disinter- 
ment and  explorations  to  which  they  have  been 
subjected. 

_It  seems  to  have  been  a  common  propensity 


104  ALATRI  AND  ARPINO. 


among  all  early  races  to  undertake  enormously 
laborious  and  massive  works,  more  from  a  bar- 
barous ambition  or  senseless  pride  than  from  any 
necessity  of  protection  which  even  the  iron  age 
of  brute  force  and  incipient  civilization  might 
have  required.  Such  structures  as  the  citadels 
of  Alatri  and  Arpino,  in  Central  Italy,  indicate, 
by  their  solidity  and  size,  something  beyond  mere 
defence.  The  sentiment  of  defiance  is  legible  all 
over  them.  Doubtless  they  were  erected  in  that 
daring  spirit  which  led  the  first  men,  in  their  ma- 
terial conceptions  of  life  and  instinctive  aspira- 
tions, to  try  for  something  more  durable  and 
better  than  the  promise  of  their  earth-habitation, 
and,  as  is  expressed  in  the  myths  of  the  building 
of  the  Tower  of  Babel  and  the  war  of  the  Titans, 
to  seek  to  scale  heaven,  aiming  to  grasp  through 
physical  force  what  their  intellects  were  too  un- 
developed to  comprehend. 

The  earliest  temples  everywhere  partake  more 
or  less  of  the  character  of  fortifications,  and  these 
were  in  turn  invested  with  a  religious  aspect. 
This  age  is  also  the  era  of  obelisks.  Man, 
rejoicing  greatly  in  his  sensuous  existence,  de- 
lighted in  worshipping  the  cause  of  his  being. 
He  found  in  the  exercise  of  his  new-born  facul- 
ties a  pleasant  satisfaction  proportioned  to  their 
freshness  and  vigor.  That  which  gave  him  most 
happiness  he  bhndly  adored,  mistaking  the  gift 
for  the  cause.  Thus,  he  deified  sensual  objects, 
and,  with  semi-savage  freedom,  worshipped  what- 
ever his  undisciplined  will  or  dominant  passions 
most  inclined  him  to  love,  covet,  or  fear.  Hence 


GRECIAN  ARCHITECTURE.  105 

the  architectural  expression  of  this  epoch  of  the 
world  is  bold,  grand,  and  vague.  We  perceive 
huge  masses,  erected  with  but  little  regard  for 
any  apparent  necessity  or  utility,  barren  of  other 
beauty  than  their  grandeur,  but  full  of  faith  in 
matter,  yet  indicating  an  earnestness  and  sincerity 
of  purpose  in  groping  or  feeling,  as  it  were,  after 
God,  and,  although  mistaking  his  nature  and 
blind  to  their  own  spiritual  possibilities,  still 
seeking  to  honor  him  and  exalt  themselves  by 
lavish,  fruitless  toil,  and  vast  uprearings  of  stone 
over  stone. 

It  is  evident,  theref6:'e,  that  the  religious  idea 
invariably  assumes  to  itself  a  definite  form  in 
arcliitecture,  which  depends  for  the  degree  and 
direction  of  its  development  upon  the  compara- 
tive influence  of  intellect  or  feeling,  being  per- 
fect of  its  kind  as  they  are  found  to  harmonize, 
and  mystic  or  barren  in  the  degree  that  the  men- 
tal and  moral  faculties  are  subjected  to  a  selfish 
or  ignorant  will. 

The  purest  example  in  the  ancient  world  of  its 
unrestrained  self-development  is  to  be  found  in 
Greece.  Here  it  took  in  architecture,  as  in  other 
art,  strictly  the  form  of  intellectual  beauty.  The 
feeling  which  inspired  it  was  critically  subjected 
to  the  rules  of  science  before  it  was  allowed  free- 
dom of  expression.  Hence  its  unity  and  har- 
mony, so  peculiarly  representative  of  the  artistic 
ideality  of  the  race  that  originated  it.  Grecian 
architecture  not  only  elates  the  mind  from  the 
consciousness  of  its  intellectual  greatness,  but 
gives  it  repose  from  the  purity  of  its  material, 


106 


PJSSTUM, 


the  perfect  correspondence  of  its  spirit  and  form, 
and  the  harmony  between  its  principles  and  uses. 
The  last  having  disappeared  with  their  contem- 
porary faith,  moderns,  in  their  love  for  its  beauty, 
have  perverted  it  to  purposes  for  which  it  was 
not  intended,  and  thus,  by  divorcing  spirit  from 
form,  have  in  a  like  degree  impaired  its  charac- 
ter. We  do  not  go  to  Parisian  bourses  and 
nineteenth  -  century  churches,  to  London  shop- 
colonnades,  nor  to  American  banks,  colleges,  or 
custom-houses,  to  know  its  beauty  and  worth; 
but  our  lessons  are  learned,  and  admiration  won, 
from  broken  columns  and  dismantled  temples,  still 
lingering  on  their  natal  soil,  so  lovely  in  outline 
and  so  correct  in  proportions  that  out  of  their 
scattered  fragments  more  perfect  wholes  arise  to 
our  mind's  eye  than  from  all  the  incongruous  imi- 
tations of  the  present  age,  upon  which  so  much 
time  and  money  have  been  wasted. 

The  early  Doric,  in  its  massiveness  and  strength, 
partakes  of  the  Egyptian  type  ;  but  the  simple 
beauty  of  its  proportions,  as  in  the  Temple  of 
Neptune  at  Paestum,  its  out-door  liberty,  yet  per- 
fect repose,  show  its  entire  emancipation  from  the 
sepulchral  spirit  of  the  former  into  a  thing  of  life 
delighting  in  open  space  and  sunshine,  lovely  in 
color  as  the  sky  about  it,  severely  grand  in  char- 
acter, but  free,  noble,  and  instinctive  with  loftier 
aspiration.  The  Greeks,  indeed,  elevated  archi- 
tecture from  a  tomb  into  a  fitting  abode  for  their 
gods.  Their  temples  were,  in  fact,  embryo  pal- 
aces ;  but  the  spirit  both  of  their  mythology  and 
their  religious  rites  was  averse  to  confinement 


GREEK  FEELING  IN  ARCHITECTURE,  107 


within  walls.  The  beauty  of  their  architecture 
was  on  the  outside ;  their  games,  ritual,  and 
plays  were  for  the  open  air ;  their  deities  lived  in 
the  waters,  forests,  or  mountains ;  so  that  the  in- 
terior of  their  buildings  was,  unlike  the  Gothic, 
less  attractive  than  the  exterior.  Still,  it  must 
be  acknowledged  that  too  frequent  repetition  of 
the  columnal  style,  confined  to  a  single  order  in  the 
same  locality,  must  have  had  the  effect  of  monot- 
ony. Much  of  its  peculiar  attraction  depends 
upon  its  isolation  ;  as  will  be  noticed  at  Paestum, 
by  looking  at  the  ruins  either  as  a  group,  or, 
singly,  at  the  Temple  of  Neptune,  which  stands 
out  so  grandly  and  firmly  against  the  lovely  sky 
of  Campania,  purplish  with  its  atmospherical 
painting  of  twenty-five  hundred  years,  a  mega- 
lonyx  of  architecture,  reminding  the  present  gen- 
eration that  there  were  "giants  on  the  earth  in 
those  days." 

The  gradations  by  which  this  style  passed 
through  the  intermediate  stages  into  the  per- 
fected Corintliian  were  easy  and  natural,  show- 
ing the  progress  in  intellectual  spirituality  of  the 
Greek  taste,  and  how  it  finally  succeeded  in  unit- 
ing the  essence  of  all  that  gave  value  to  the  pre- 
ceding types  of  architecture  with  higher  ideas 
of  beauty. 

Grecian  architecture  is,  however,  like  the  my- 
thology of  the  land,  strictly  human  in  feeling.  It 
is  an  intellectual  aspiration,  based  firmly  upon 
the  earth,  rising  columnward  towards  heaven  in 
beautiful  symmetry  and  proportions,  and  then 
suddenly  checking  itself  by  entablature  and  cor- 


108  THE  ROMAN  FEELING. 


nice,  as  having  attained  its  full  flight.  We  best 
look  at  it  externally,  upon  a  level  with  ourselves. 
Its  interior  is  cold,  dark,  and  unsatisfying.  The 
inmost  soul  is  not  reached ;  the  eye  comprehends 
at  once  its  entire  scope.  It  tells  us  of  sensuous 
and  scientific  harmonies,  stimulates  thought,  de- 
velops in  its  art  the  most  beautiful  of  natural 
objects,  but  keeps  us  moderns  strictly  to  earth, 
and  admitted  the  ancients  only  into  an  earth- 
heaven.  Its  Olympus  was  around  and  over  it, 
scarcely  soaring  to  a  greater  height  than  its 
walls  ;  while  its  gods  were  simply  heroic  men,  or 
nature's  phenomena  put  into  human  shapes.  It 
perished  because  its  spirit  was  too  finite. 

The  early  Romans  cherished  no  real  love  for 
art.  With  them  a  sculptor  was  but  indifierently 
well  regarded.  Useful  and  practical  works,  such 
as  sewers,  citadels,  bridges,  roads,  and  whatever 
tended  to  increase  and  consolidate  their  power, 
were  the  primary  objects  of  interest  to  the  Ro- 
man people.  This  resulted  from  the  large  Etrus- 
can element  of  their  population.  Unlike  the 
Greeks,  temples  and  their  ornamentation  were  of 
secondary  consideration  to  whatever  promoted  the 
material  power  and  wealth  of  the  nation.  Grad- 
ually, however,  art,  owing  to  the  increase  of  lux- 
ury, became  fashionable.  Rome  then  borrowed 
from  Greece  its  art,  its  philosophy,  and  its  religion, 
adding  to  each.  Her  lust  was  of  universal  power, 
but  there  was  no  bigotry  in  her  faith.  Jew,  Egyp- 
tian, Greek,  and  Scythian  could  worship  freely 
beneath  the  swoop  of  her  eagle's  wings,  so  long 
as  they  bowed  to  her  civil  sway.    She  added  to 


ROME. 


109 


Grecian  architecture  a  miniature  world,  —  that 
glorious  symbol  of  strength  and  dominion,  the 
arch.  Everywhere  Kome  is  seen  in  the  arch,  — ■ 
in  amphitheatre,  aqueduct,  temple,  palace,  basilica, 
and  sewer,  —  arch  over  arch,  the  Greek  column 
being  but  its  footstool.  Now,  the  inclination  is 
to  view  architecture  internally.  We  are  im- 
pressed by  physical  force  and  firmness  and  great- 
ness of  will-power.  The  eye  is  lifted  up  through 
vast  and  graceful  sweeps,  until  it  ranges  along 
whole  firmaments  of  noble  masonry;  but  the 
sight  is  limited  to  marble  ceilings  and  adamantine 
vaults."^  There  is  no  escape  for  thought  through 
their  massive  impenetrability.  A  sense  of  power 
and  magnificence  overshadows  men  and  things 
with  imperial  might.  Rome  exhausted  the  vital- 
ity of  the  Greek  principle.  The  sensuous  intel- 
lectual was  wedded  to  material  grandeur,  but 
without  any  new  spiritual  revealment.  The 
practical  significance  of  the  Roman  architecture 
proper  was  compass  and  dominion.  Gradually  it 
died  out,  beneath  the  combined  influences  of  the 
active  hostility  of  more  vigorous  animal  natures 
and  the  purer  aspirations  of  Christianity. 

Out  of  this  combination  there  immediately 
sprang  up  another  style  of  architecture,  swayed 
by  the  enthusiasm  of  a  new-born  faith,  and  unit- 

*  If  architectural  forms  are,  as  some  suppose,  in  the  main 
derived  from  the  vegetable  kingdom,  it  is  possible  that  the 
liomans  borrowed  their  idea  of  the  dome  —  especially  the  flat 
one,  like  that  of  the  Pantheon  —  from  the  Italian  pine.  The 
tops  of  some  pines  are  loftily  rounded,  like  the  dome  even  of 
St.  Peter's. 


110   ROMANESQUE  AND  LOMBARD  STYLES, 


iiig  the  classical  fragments  of  the  past  to  the 
rude  productions  of  unskilled  hands.  Semi-sav- 
age but  devout  hearts  brought  the  treasures  of 
their  imaginations  and  their  fortunes  to  the  ser- 
vice of  their  new  Lord.  Whatever  was  dear  to 
them  must  be  equally  dear  to  him.  Without 
science,  moved  by  deep  feeling,  they  wrought  into 
forms  the  fancies  of  their  minds,  scarcely  half- 
weaned  from  heathenism,  or  redeemed  from  bar- 
barism, and  in  earnest  faith  devoted  them  to  the 
uses  and  adornment  of  the  new  sanctuaries. 
This  was  the  Lombard  era,  so  prolific  in  rough 
actions  and  rude  art ;  when  nondescript  wolves, 
lions,  and  ferocious  animals  of  all  kinds  were 
carved  to  support  the  columns  and  porticos  of 
temples  of  peace  and  love,  and  capital,  door, 
roof,  and  wall  were  alike  eloquent  with  strange 
fancies,  legends,  and  symbols,  —  living  evidences 
of  the  enlarged  scope  Christianity  offered  to  art. 
Those  children  in  mental  acquirements,  the  unlet- 
tered architects  and  artists  of  that  day,  repudi- 
ating or  having  lost  all  knowledge  of  the  rules 
of  Greek  art,  gave  themselves  wholly  up  to  the 
impulse  of  their  age,  and  wrote  out  their  thoughts 
in  stone  and  color,  according  to  their  needs,  with- 
out other  rule  than  their  feeling,  giving  freely  their 
best  to  express  their  faith  and  win  heaven.  Fish, 
bird,  or  brute,  leaflet,  vine,  or  flower,  demon  or  an- 
gel, saint  or  ruffian,  the  grotesque  or  grave,  what- 
ever pleased  them,  or  had  in  their  eyes  a  symbolic 
significance,  was  added  to  their  architecture,  in- 
side or  outside,  wherever  space  could  be  found  to 
record  their  inspiration.    A  wider  contrast  than 


ROMANESQUE  AND  LOMBARD  STYLES.  Ill 

between  the  beauty  and  severe  rule  of  pure  clas- 
sical architecture,  and  the  wild  freedom,  random 
adornment,  and  savage  earnestness  of  the  early 
Lombard,  cannot  be  conceived. 

Passing  modestly  and  almost  imperceptibly,  at 
first,  from  the  Pagan  basilica,  which  required  to 
be  but  slightly  modified  to  meet  the  primary  dem- 
ocratic exigencies  of  the  new  worship.  Christian 
arcliitecture  in  the  more  civilized  regions  of 
Europe  and  Asia  grew  into  the  Romanesque  and 
Byzantine  styles,  retaining  many  traces  in  orna- 
mentation of  classic  art,  but  noted  chiefly  for  its 
mosaics  and  frescos,  by  the  help  of  which,  in 
place  of  heathen  statuary,  it  sought  to  reveal  to 
the  common  mind  the  facts  and  doctrines  of  the 
new  religion.  At  this  epoch,  extending  from  the 
reign  of  Constantine  to  the  eleventh  and  twelfth 
centuries,  we  find  in  the  houses  of  worship,  as  in 
the  religious  heart  of  the  time,  a  strange  medley 
of  truth  and  error ;  undeveloped  knowledge  and 
crude  thoughts,  childish  materialism  and  infantile 
sincerity,  fierce  bigotry  and  noble  devotion,  the 
lust  of  asceticism  and  the  glow  of  true  piety, 
barbarian  fancy  and  gleams  of  refinement,  noble 
devotion  and  vile  superstition.  Pagan  relic  and 
Christ's  cross,  side  by  side  ;  unity  and  consist- 
ency in  nothing,  but  struggle,  fear,  and  furious 
selfishness  everywhere  ;  yet  a  gradually  increas- 
ing horizon  of  life  and  hope,  —  progress  amid 
chaos :  such  was  the  state  of  mind  and  architect- 
ure during  this  long  period. 

In  nothing  is  it  more  aptly  represented  than  in 
the  rehgious  character  and  artistic  value  of  its 


112     MATERIALISM  IN  ARCHITECTURE. 

mosaics  and  paintings.  When  these  were  rightly 
employed  as  decorative  art,  they  were  found 
highly  efficacious  in  investing  the  interiors  of 
churches  with  vital  warmth  and  beauty ;  but  as 
teachers  of  spiritual  doctrines,  except  when  viewed 
as  simple  sacred  histories,  by  the  grossness  of  their 
materialism,  the  rudeness  of  their  designs,  and 
their  ambitious  materialistic  attempts  at  repre- 
senting the  Almighty  and  heavenly  host,  with 
equally  graphic  illustrations  of  his  rival,  Satan, 
and  the  horrors  of  his  sulphurous  kingdom,  — 
in  short,  by  aspiring  to  the  impossible  in  art,  — 
they  signally  failed.  Indeed,  it  may  reason- 
ably be  doubted  whether  it  is  possible  for  such 
gross  art  to  exercise  a  wholesome  influence 
over  mind,  however  ignorant ;  since,  from  fa- 
miliarity with  images  of  terror  or  physical  evil, 
it  speedily  learns  to  regard  them  as  either  the 
natural  and  inevitable,  or  as  the  false  machinery 
of  religious  despotism,  and,  therefore,  as  not  de- 
pending in  any  degree  upon  its  own  state  of  affec- 
tions. Pure  materialism  is  a  hydra-headed  mon- 
ster, and  delights  in  begetting  sin.  The  utter 
neglect  or  ridicule,  in  a  religious  point  of  view, 
to  which  all  illustrative  art  founded  in  base  fear 
is  finally  consigned,  justifies  us  in  regarding  it  as 
worse  than  useless. 

But  out  of  Lombard  freedom  and  its  inade- 
quate exposition  of  Christianity,  silently  and  al- 
most untraceably,  so  gradual  was  the  change, 
grew  purer  rule  and  more  scientific  execution, 
though  still  inspired  by  an  equal  depth  of  feeling. 
The  Gothic,  in  its  various  branches,  began  to  ap- 


THE  GOTHIC. 


113 


pear,  leavened  in  Italy  and  Spain  with  the  Ori- 
ental and  Saracenic  types,  and  borrowing  from 
Kome  and  Greece  the  arch  and  other  forms  of 
ancient  art,  which  kept  it  from  perfect  freedom, 
and  finally  led  to  its  passing  out  of  the  mixed  or 
adulterated  Gothic  into  the  equally  mixed  and 
adulterated  classical  or  composite  style  introduced 
by  Brunelleschi  and  his  compeers,  on  the  revival 
of  pagan  learning  and  philosophy.  In  Northern 
Europe  it  developed  into  a  more  spiritual  expres- 
sion of  the  devotion  of  the  times.  The  root  of 
its  spiritual  symbolism  lies  in  the  freedom  of  its 
lines  upward.  They  are  the  infinite  perpendicu- 
lar, without  horizontal  restraint  of  entablature  or 
confinement  by  those  elemental  features  of  Gre- 
cian architecture  which  cut  short  aspiration 
heavenward,  and  bound  it  firm  and  solid  to  the 
ground.  Height  as  opposed  to  breadth,  the  col- 
umn to  the  spire,  architrave  to  the  pointed  arch,  — 
such  are  some  of  their  essential  contrasts  of  con- 
structive spirit.  Repetition  of  a  few  forms  and  a 
limited  scope  of  adornment,  noble  and  beautiful,  it 
is  true,  and  full  of  aesthetic  repose,  characterized  the 
one  almost  to  a  monotony,  especially  in  the  sky- 
line, and  long  ranges  of  columns,  and  general  same- 
ness of  outline  of  masses,  until  the  Romans,  in 
adapting  it  to  their  needs,  diversified  it,  sometimes 
nobly,  more  often  with  questionable  taste,  by  domes, 
arches,  and  orders,  piled  one  above  another.  In- 
exhaustible movement  or  Hfe,  freedom  of  orna- 
mentation, ranging  from  rude  license  to  refined 
fancy  and  elevated  symbolism,  were  the  birth- 
right of  the  architecture  born  under  the  Northern 
8 


114 


THE  GOTHIC. 


sky,  as  imaginative,  wild,  and  daring  as  the  tem- 
per of  its  sons.  Fettered  by  no  narrow  system 
of  83sthetic  science,  seeking  mainly  to  give  ex- 
pression to  their  newly  aroused  notions  of  beauty, 
they  lifted  up  their  graceful  shafts  and  flying-but- 
tresses until  their  forms  were  almost  lost  in  the 
welcoming  heaven  above  them,  and  broke  up 
their  vaults  and  roofs  into  stone-spray  as  light- 
some and  joyous  as  ocean- waves,  or  as  varied 
and  beautiful  as  the  witchery  of  the  frost-work 
of  their  winters.  Everywhere  the  true  Gotliic 
is  characterized  by  ethereal  delicacy  and  the  up- 
lifting of  the  soul  to  God.  Internally  and  ex- 
ternally, by  pointed  arch  and  sky-aspiring  dome, 
—  not  St.  Peter's  of  Kome,  but  that  of  Santa 
Maria  del  Fiore  of  Florence,  —  by  spire  and 
shaft,  by  flying-buttress  and  lofty  window,  whose 
lights  gave  out  celestial  colors,  and  suggestions  of 
"  good  men  made  perfect ; "  by  lavish  painting 
and  sculpture,  as  well  in  the  particular  as  in  the 
general,  it  led  the  eye  and  thought  upward.  As 
the  tower  proclaims  watch  and  ward,  so  do  the 
spire  and  shaft,  which  so  emphatically  belong  to 
this  style,  suggest  spiritual  hope.  And  this  is  its 
grand  religious  distinction  over  all  other  archi- 
tecture, just  as  its  principles  of  building  illustrate 
or  are  taken  from  the  growth  and  variety  of  the 
natural  world,  and  in  consequence  admit  of  infi- 
nite adaptability  of  use  and  flexibility  of  beauty. 
In  its  religious  form,  and  to  a  certain  extent  in 
its  domestic,  it  is  the  embodiment  of  the  spiritual 
and  imaginative  faculties.  Mind  exhausts  itself 
in  penetrating  its  lofty  significance,  as  does  the 


THE  GOTHIC. 


115 


eye  in  deciphering  its  infinity  of  artistic  adorn- 
ment. There  is  nothing  sensual  or  coldly  intel 
lectual  in  true  Gothic.  It  images  the  mys- 
teries of  the  whole  soul  in  its  heavenward  gaze 
and  earth  -  progress  :  now  obscure,  now  clear  ; 
bright  with  rays  of  colored  light,  like  angel's 
hints,  then  serious  ;  hoping  and  doubting ;  certain 
and  uncertain  ;  heart  and  intellect  harmoniously 
moved  by  its  silent  music,  or  awed  by  its  inscru- 
table designs  ;  the  human  self  annihilated,  and 
the  spirit-self  awakened  to  a  growing  conscious- 
ness of  its  future.  If  the  Greek  satisfied  the 
intellect,  the  Gothic  equally  responds  to  the 
spiritual  faculty.  Up,  up,  still  up  the  vision  is 
ever  drawn,  finding  no  limit,  but,  like  the  mar- 
tyred Stephen,  seeing  in  the  negation  of  body  a 
heaven  open  to  view ;  and  so,  self-annihilated, 
the  individual  is  gradually  absorbed  into  the 
sanctuary.  The  architecture  that  can  effect  this 
—  and  there  are  still  many  cathedrals  scattered 
over  Europe  that  can  —  is  truly  sublime. 

Too  much  attention  is  paid  by  moderns  to 
the  mere  form  of  the  Gothic,  to  the  neglect 
of  its  chief  characteristic  feature,  that  which 
gives  it  a  value,  for  spiritual  purposes,  beyond 
any  other  system  of  architecture.  We  refer  to 
its  stained-glass  windows,  and  general  manage- 
ment of  color,  light,  and  shade.  Its  later  and 
best  styles  of  windows  were  those  which  were 
carried  out  in  the  cathedrals  of  France  and  Eng- 
land to  their  ripest  expression ;  the  one  marked 
by  richness  and  lightness,  and  the  other  by  rich- 
ness and  solidity ;  each  beautiful,  though  neither 


116 


THE  GOTHIC, 


of  them  was  fully  perfected  before  senseless  in- 
novations led  the  Gothic  astray  from  its  orig- 
inal intentions.  The  fulness  of  the  religious 
character  perhaps  depended  even  more  upon  the 
aerial  harmonies  of  stained  windows  than  upon 
beauteous  tracery  or  profuse  sculpture.  Unfor- 
tunately, but  few  specimens  of  either  art  exist  in 
their  original  excellence.  Enough,  however,  re- 
mains to  prove  that  the  builders  of  the  Gothic 
cathedrals  gave  their  whole  souls  to  their  work, 
for  the  double  purpose  of  honoring  God  and,  by 
means  of  plastic  art,  of  creating  an  encyclopaedia 
of  instruction  for  man,  speaking  to  his  entire  un- 
derstanding, either  by  direct  knowledge,  moral 
significance,  or  spiritual  beauty.  Accordingly, 
we  find,  as  in  St.  Mark's  of  Venice,  of  the  By- 
zantine school,  and  the  Kheims,  Chartres,  St. 
Denis,  and  many  other  mediaeval  cathedrals,  and 
imitated  in  our  day  in  the  little  church  of  Notre 
Dame  de  Bon  Secours,  outside  of  Rouen,  Bible 
histories  and  sacred  traditions  written  in  letters 
of  stone  all  over  their  walls  ;  and  not  religion 
only,  but  the  biographies  of  royal  families,  noble 
ancestral  deeds,  flaming  in  purple  and  gold  and 
stamped  in  adamant,  not  dumb  in  their  storied 
sepulchres,  but  looking  down  from  generation  to 
generation,  a  perpetual  legacy  of  glory,  faith, 
and  example  to  all  men;  amid  them,  standing 
forth  for  warning,  encouragement,  or  intellect- 
ual stimulus,  science,  philosophy,  and  the  virtues 
and  vices  of  humanity,  in  burning  and  eloquent 
allegory  or  stern  symbol ;  and,  above  all,  the 
artist's  imagination,  soaring  still  higher,  daringly 


THE  GOTHIC, 


117 


brought  down  from  heaven,  to  complete  his 
thought,  its  hosts  and  hierarchy,  that  they  might 
sit  in  everlasting  judgment  alike  over  crowned 
or  beggared  worshipper,  uttering  to  the  heart 
of  each,  law,  hope,  or  mercy,  according  to  its 
need.  But  we  have  not  yet  completed  our  re- 
view of  the  architect's  work.  To  all  this,  over 
and  above  the  solemn  shadows  of  column  and 
vault,  so  full  of  religious  repose,  the  light  spring 
of  pointed  arch,  heaven-climbing  shaft,  and  sky- 
tipped  spire,  the  enduring  lessons  of  carved  stone 
and  brilliant  fresco,  —  to  all  these  spiritual  delights 
he  added  rays  of  heaven-tinted  light,  streaming 
through  rainbow-hued  windows  alive  with  saintly 
and  angelic  forms,  and  filling  the  whole  interior  of 
the  sanctuary  with  a  soft  effulgence  that  soothed 
the  soul,  and  by  its  magnetic  harmony  lifted 
thought  and  feeling  through  all  their  earthly  gra- 
dations up  to  their  God. 

Such  were  the  full  object  and  meaning  of  this 
architecture,  internally  and  externally.  It  had 
its  highest  manifestation,  as  if  anticipating  its 
coming  doom  with  a  melody  like  the  fabled  notes 
of  the  dying  swan,  just  preceding  the  invention 
of  printing.  Then  book-thought,  that  abstract 
expression  of  the  spiritual  and  intellectual  facul- 
ties, so  superseded  the  necessity  of  sensuous  lan- 
guage, that  the  palsy  of  neglect  came  over  it  be- 
fore its  possibilities  were  exhausted,  or  its  spirit 
wholly  comprehended.  To  us,  therefore,  it  rarely 
appears  other  than  with  the  fatal  beauty  of  the 
consumptive  patient,  —  lovely  and  inviting  even 
in  its  decay,  shadowing  forth  not  alone  the  vigor 


118 


THE  GOTHIC. 


and  charm  of  its  uncompleted  earthly  existence, 
but  suggesting  the  spiritual  glories  that  are  des- 
tined, as  we  would  fain  believe,  yet  to  be  unfolded 
out  of  its  now  dormant  power. 

Unfortunately  for  true  art  and  religion,  this 
picture  has  its  reverse.  Cathedral  architecture 
scarcely  anywhere  has  been  left  free  to  speak  the 
full  lesson  of  its  creators.  Born  of  Christianity, 
if  completed  consistently  with  its  motive,  and 
kept  in  strict  accordance  with  its  art-principles,  it 
is  the  purest  and  most  eloquent  sensuous  expo- 
nent of  the  doctrine  of  immortality  that  has  yet 
been  developed.  We  do  not  assert  that  its  build- 
ers were  better  men  than  those  of  our  day;  but 
they  knew  far  better  what  they  were  about  than 
do  our  architects.  Their  buildings  were  not  the 
plagiarized  designs  of  one  man,  but  the  fruition 
of  the  minds  and  hands  of  many,  giving  their 
talents  with  harmonious  concert  to  works  embody- 
ing the  greatest  ideas  and  deepest  feelings  that 
exist  in  man,  concentrated  on  the  most  patriotic 
and  sacred  purposes.  They  lived,  too,  at  a  time 
when  the  feeling  for  form  and  color  was,  even  in 
an  aesthetic  sense,  as  active  as  ever  it  was  among 
the  Greeks,  though  under  the  inspiration  of  a 
wholly  different  sentiment.  This  is  how  the 
artists  and  architects  of  the  Middle  Ages  came 
to  give  free  rein  to  their  love  of  the  beautiful, 
alike  in  ecclesiastical  and  domestic  architecture, 
costume,  armor,  and  furniture.  In  fine,  in  every- 
thing they  undertook,  whether  for  the  altar,  field, 
or  the  hearth-stone^  they  wrought  out  their  free 
and  complete  sense  of  beauty,  from  a  passionate 


THE  GOTHIC. 


119 


love  of  it  for  its  own  sake,  and  with  but  a  sec- 
ondary regard  for  convenience  or  utility. 

This  was  the  heroic  and  picturesque  period  of 
modern  art.  In  its  relation  to  sensuous  effects, 
under  the  guidance  of  a  vital  and  self-sacrificing, 
aesthetic  principle,  founded  in  Christian  faith,  in- 
structive, impulsive,  and  joyous,  it  stands  forth  in 
bold  relief  as  contrasted  with  the  more  prosaic  and 
scientific  aspect  of  this  century,  which,  in  its  gen- 
eral indifference  to  beauty  as  a  primary  element 
of  life,  and  its  devotion  in  preference  to  that 
which  promotes  not  so  much  the  enjoyment  of 
man  as  his  wealth  and  power,  may  be  likened 
to  the  early  Roman  ages. 

In  our  social  amusements,  when  we  try  to  re- 
vive in  fancy  ball  or  fete  a  momentary  satisfac- 
tion in  graceful  and  beautiful  costume,  we  are  at 
once  obliged  to  go  back  to  the  Middle  Ages  for 
our  fashions.  But  will  any  future  generation 
ever  repeat  ours,  except  as  examples  of  ugliness  ? 
So,  the  ornamental  portions  of  our  dwellings, 
domestic  utensils,  and  whatever  we  have  that  is 
tolerable  in  religious  architecture,  are  drawn 
either  from  classical  antiquity  or  the  prolific  me- 
dioeval  genius  ;  showing  that  thus  far  we  are 
imitators  only,  and  not  creators,  of  art. 

However,  it  must  not  be  lost  sight  of  that  we 
judge  the  Middle  Ages  not  so  much  from  the  un- 
derstanding and  condition  of  the  masses,  as  from 
the  feeling  and  knowledge  of  their  ablest  minds. 
It  was  the  feudal  age,  and  aristocracy  of  rank  or 
talent  swayed  the  popular  will,  and  stamped  its 
effigy  upon  it.    Hence  it  comes  down  to  us  with 


120 


THE  GOTHIC, 


greater  refinement  and  artistic  beauty  than  if,  as 
in  our  own,  the  superior  cultivation  of  the  few 
had  been  hidden  or  absorbed  by  the  more  mate- 
rial exigencies  of  the  many,  and  the  prosaic  stand- 
ard of  knowledge  and  comfort  so  raised  as  to  re- 
duce the  poetical  heights  and  picturesque  varieties 
of  the  former  wellnigh  to  the  monotonous  level 
of  the  latter.  But,  notwithstanding  our  superi- 
ority in  the  mere  power  of  civilization,  we  have 
much  to  learn  and  enjoy  from  the  mediaevalists, 
whose  excess  of  life  was  of  so  opposite  a  charac- 
ter to  ours. 

Every  age  has  its  chronic  weakness,  or  special 
strength.  The  revealers  of  new  truths  of  all 
ages,  whether  poets,  artists,  philosophers,  or  saints, 
have  a  standard  of  feeling  and  a  degree  of  spirit- 
ual insight  far  above  those  of  the  multitude.  Being 
the  pioneers  of  progress  in  science,  art,  and  relig- 
ion, their  works,  however  differently  shaped  by 
time  and  circumstance,  are  nevertheless  inspired 
by  the  common  desire  to  elevate  humanity  in  the 
measure  and  direction  of  their  own  enlarged  fac- 
ulties. Although  we  discover  in  all  great  works 
progressive  revealments  of  truth,  they  are  partial 
and  comparative,  because  no  mind  in  human  form 
can  wholly  escape  the  influences  of  our  common 
imperfection.  But  there  is  also  a  downward 
tendency  of  mind,  arising  from  the  earthward 
gravitation  of  ignorance  and  selfishness.  No  class 
of  men  have  more  persecuted  the  prophets  than 
the  priests ;  because  the  one  foretells  change  and 
progress,  while  the  other  clings  with  the  intensity 
of  selfishness  to  established  power.    The  Church 


PRIESTS  PERSECUTE  PROPHETS.  121 

of  Rome  owes  her  existence  to  the  spirit  of  lib- 
erty and  reform  she  now  repudiates.  Having 
established  her  authority,  her  constant  endeavor 
is  to  perpetuate  it  by  the  plea  of  heaven-derived 
infallibility.  Individual  freedom  must  succumb 
to  her  hierarchal  rule.  There  is  no  truth  except 
such  as  is  sanctioned  by  the  church,  and  nothing 
is  true  that  questions  her  policy  or  power.  She 
is  a  self-instituted  shepherdess,  and  her  flock  are 
silly  sheep  by  themselves  incompetent  to  find  their 
pastures. 

This  is  the  principle  of  all  absolute  power, 
whether  in  church  or  state.  To  a  certain  extent, 
direction  and  instruction  are  needed  by  all.  The 
absolute  in  government  is  necessary  to  repress  the 
tendency  of  evil  and  uninformed  minds  towards 
anarchy,  and  also  to  fuse  and  discipline  diversified 
races  and  interests  into  orderly  social  life.  This 
done,  then  it  is  due  to  human  liberty  to  remove 
the  pressure  of  absolutism,  and  permit  the  indi- 
vidual to  develop  himself  according  to  his  incli- 
nation, provided  there  is  nothing  in  it  that  in- 
fringes the  security  and  freedom  of  his  neighbor. 

Not  only  the  Roman  Church,  but  all  other  gov- 
ernments founded  upon  a  selfish  perversion  of 
authority,  ignore  Christ's  love  of  neighbor,  from 
fear  of  inquiry  and  progress.  In  the  outset  this 
was  not  so  much  the  case ;  for  the  church  had 
her  sheep  to  collect,  and  went  into  the  wilderness 
to  look  after  them,  moving  with  and  taking  the 
lead  of  the  general  impulse  that  led  all  to  hunger 
and  thirst  after  better  things.  It  is  the  unanim- 
ity of  feeling  or  interest  between  the  rulers  and 


122 


POLICY  OF  ROMANISM, 


ruled,  that,  in  the  commencement  of  authority, 
makes  it  so  powerful.  Christianity  united  in  one 
movement  all  who  were  desirous  of  reforms,  and 
animated  with  a  hopeful  faith  in  eternal  life.  The 
artists,  borne  along  on  this  spiritual  tide,  topped 
the  mighty  wave  with  the  lofty  sweep  of  their 
own  inspirations,  glorious  and  sparkling  in  the  new 
sunlight,  and  filled  with  music  for  the  soul,  until 
priestcraft,  the  self-constituted  agent  that  arro- 
gated to  itself  authority  over  them  and  the  people, 
said,  "  Thus  far  shalt  thou  go,  but  no  farther  ; 
henceforth  your  art  is  to  us,  and  not  to  God." 
Then  superstition  and  blind  faith,  like  a  blight, 
passed  over  the  people.  They  were  to  be  kept 
children  forever,  instructed  only  by  nursery  tales, 
and  edified  by  toys.  Religion  was  transformed 
into  a  splendid  show.  Its  practical  teachings  of 
love,  charity,  hope,  faith,  freedom,  God  the  Fa- 
ther, God  the  Word,  and  God  the  Spirit,  became 
mysteries  too  great  for  the  common  mind.  They 
were  only  to  be  symbolized  in  vestments,  images, 
and  ceremonies,  eloquent  to  attract  and  mystify, 
but  dumb  to  the  soul,  except  as  the  banners  of 
unqualified  obedience.  Heaven  itself  was  paro- 
died by  papacy,  which  assumed  to  itself  the  posi- 
tion of  almighty  Judge.  All  spiritual  truth  grew 
to  be  grossly  materialized.  Emblazoned  altar, 
shrine,  and  relic ;  worship  in  a  dead  tongue ; 
the  mass  and  confessional ;  penance,  gifts,  and 
multiplied  sacraments ;  pompous  rites  and  gor^ 
geous  apparel ;  rank  upon  rank  of  priests  and 
parasites ;  churches  vulgarized  by  tawdry  dolls, 
gewgaws,  and  upholstery,  crammed  with  the  tro- 


A  STONE. 


123 


pliies  of  ignorance  and  the  bequests  of  supersti- 
tious fear,  and  filled  with  dead  men's  bones  become 
as  gods  ;  the  altar  degraded  into  a  manufactory 
of  miracles  and  a  golgotha  of  decayed  mortality  ; 
the  ministers  of  the  High  and  Mighty  One  clad 
in  scarlet,  lace,  and  gold  ;  throughout,  the  false, 
glittering,  and  coarse,  obscuring  true  art  and 
faith  ;  men's  bodies  held  in  pawn  for  their  souls  : 
such  became  the  guise  of  the  religion  the  church 
proffered  to  the  people,  —  a  lie  for  truth  ;  instead 
of  the  bread  they  clamored  for,  a  stone. 

This  is  indeed  the  extreme  of  its  degradation. 
Amid  all  lives  the  Christ-love,  silently  working 
the  cure.  But  he  who  would  now  seek  out  the 
pearls  of  Christian  architecture  must  not  only  go 
to  the  Roman  Catholic  church  for  them,  but  pre- 
pare his  mind  for  contrasts  as  great  as  those  we 
have  described  between  its  architectural  spiritu- 
ality and  its  spontaneous  adoption  of  tinsel  and 
falsehood  wherewith  to  cheat  mankind.  This 
principle  of  its  sway  is  aptly  illustrated  in  the 
Santo  Spirito  church,  at  Florence,  where  the 
visitor  will  see,  in  a  mediaeval  painting  of  the 
Nativity,  the  figure  of  the  Virgin  covered  with  a 
brocade  robe,  and  a  tin  crown  upon  her  head. 
Near  by  is  a  copy  of  Michel  Angelo's  Pieta, 
wearing  a  sham  necklace  and  crown.  Candle- 
sticks, mock  jewelry,  and  millinery  are  preferred 
to  painting  and  sculpture.  Architecture  is  ob- 
scured by  the  low  cunning  of  vanity  or  avarice, 
and  gifts  to  the  church  are  more  sought  for  than 
the  salvation  of  souls.  Knowledge,  even,  is  sep- 
ulchred, as  may  be  seen  in  the  miscalled  Library 


124  THE  SHAM  OF  ST.  PETER'S, 

of  the  Vatican,  in  which  neither  books  nor  manu- 
scripts are  for  the  public,  but,  in  their  stead,  the 
gaudy  decorations  and  marble  floors  of  a  cafe 
only  are  shown.  St.  Peter's  itself  is  a  mingled 
pain  and  pleasure.  We  admire  its  vastness,  and 
sympathize  with  the  spirit  that  would  honor  God 
with  man's  all  of  art  and  wealth.  But  its  pre- 
tensions outdo  its  reality ;  and  it  is  with  indignant 
mortification  that  its  sham  and  deceit,  bastard 
architecture,  absurd  proportions  of  statuary,  idol- 
worship,  vain  pomp,  and  lying  relics  are  disclosed 
to  us,  after  the  first  surprise  at  its  immensity  and 
richness  has  worn  off.  It  is  the  embodiment  of 
the  pride,  ambition,  error,  worldly  policy,  and  re- 
ligious arrogance  of  the  papacy  itself :  not  with- 
out its  striking  merits  and  large  admixture  of 
truth ;  but,  like  papacy  itself,  ever  sacrificing  the 
spirituality  and  independence  of  art  to  selfishness 
and  superstition,  under  the  pretext  of  caring  for 
men's  souls,  while  it  lusts  only  for  dominion  over 
them. 

It  must  not  be  forgotten,  however,  that  Chris- 
tian architecture  never  was  more  pure  and  spiritual 
than  when  the  Roman  Church  was  most  absolute 
over  civil  power.  This  was  owing  to  her  being 
herself  in  a  condition  of  progress.  She  was  con- 
tending for  universal  supremacy,  on  the  grounds 
of  her  moral  and  religious  superiority.  The  age 
of  the  crusades,  cathedrals,  and  monastic  institu- 
tions was  that  of  her  primal  vigor  and  greatest 
virtue.  It  was  emphatically  the  triumph  of  her 
faith  and  feeling.  But  the  people,  seeing  light, 
demanded  more.    This  could  not  be  given  with- 


ST.  PETERS. 


125 


out  imperilling  her  principle  of  absolute  authority 
over  conscience.  Hence  the  subtle  and  enslaving 
mode  of  her  resistance,  which  has  gradually  begot- 
ten the  corruption  alluded  to. 

Although  victorious  in  the  main  over  the  peo- 
ple, she  shortly  found  more  formidable  antago- 
nists in  kings,  who  were  rapidly  rising  in  the 
political  scale,  as  the  representatives  of  secular,  in 
opposition  to  ecclesiastical,  governments.  Neither 
could  be  successful  without  the  support  of  those 
they  governed.  Coalitions  for  the  common  pur- 
pose of  tyranny  and  spoil  ended  in  rivalries  and 
contests,  in  which  kings  generally  grew  stronger 
because  they  could  bring  more  positive  interests  to 
bear  upon  the  hopes  and  fears  of  their  subjects. 
Their  cause,  too,  embodied  material  progress, 
and,  to  a  certain  extent,  a  latitude  of  knowl- 
edge and  enterprise  which  papacy  repudiated.  It 
was  the  germ  of  large  civil  growth,  and  the  uni- 
versal supremacy  of  statute  law.  But  in  its  be- 
ginnings it  was  simply  the  selfish  struggle  of  am- 
bitious men  for  sovereignty.  Rapidly  the  strictly 
papal  feeling  gave  way  before  the  newer  current 
of  the  age.  The  pope  sank  the  priest  in  the 
prince.  Hildebrands  and  Gregories  were  suc- 
ceeded by  Sextuses,  Borgias,  and  Medici ;  crafty, 
warlike,  pompous,  unbelieving,  sensualized  sover- 
eigns, whose  ambition  was  to  play  a  deep  game  in 
base  state-craft. 

With  this  we  have  nothing  further  to  do  ex- 
cept to  point  out  its  effect  upon  architecture. 
Wliile  the  ecclesiastical  sentiment  predominated, 
the  Gothic  was  the  prevalent  mode.   In  the  North 


126 


SPIRIT  OF  THE  GOTHIC. 


of  Europe,  in  its  domestic  type,  it  assumed  the 
quaint,  picturesque,  and  fanciful ;  in  the  South 
there  was  engrafted  upon  it  a  less  odd  luxuriance 
of  form,  but  more  of  color.  Everywhere  it  pre- 
sented the  same  fascinating,  varying  aspect,  a 
combination  of  devotion,  rudeness,  external  beau- 
ty and  grandeur,  internal  discomfort  and  feudal 
pride.  Castle,  palace,  and  cottage,  each  repre- 
sented a  perilous  social  condition,  in  which  the 
passions  and  ideas  of  men  were  in  the  transi- 
tion state  between  family  lawlessness  and  civil 
order.  Whatever  is  significant  of  wild  struggle 
for  happiness,  or  untamed  aspiration  towards  the 
beautiful,  and  is  sincere  and  earnest  of  spirit,  how- 
ever rude  its  expression,  that  has  the  power  to 
charm.  When  to  this  we  add  the  originality  of 
their  architecture  in  comparison  with  modern,  its 
exuberance  of  symbol,  sculpture,  and  painting,  ex- 
pressive of  an  age  in  which  the  mind  of  a  people 
runs  more  into  ar.t  than  letters,  the  captivating 
chivalry  of  peoples,  semi-savage  in  their  loyalty 
to  pomp  and  display,  —  when  we  consider  these 
qualities  of  mediaeval  life,  we  need  not  be  sur- 
prised that  its  art  so  seizes  upon  our  senses. 
Writers  like  Ruskin,  with  more  subtlety  of  anal- 
ysis and  glow  of  word-painting  than  breadth  of 
judgment,  would  persuade  us  to  return  to  this 
style  for  domestic  purposes  ;  but,  with  all  their 
zeal  for  its  revival,  we  believe  few  would  be  will- 
ing to  exchange  the  refinements  and  conveniences 
of  a  modern  British  home,  with  its  capacity  for 
beauty,  if  the  taste  be  rightly  cultivated,  for  the 
damp,  ill-ventilated,  dark,  and  tortuous  interiors 


RENAISSANT  AND  PALATIAL  STYLES.  127 


of  the  fourteentli-century  domestic  architecture, 
which  as  aptly  represents  the  social  condition  of 
its  oriofinators  as  does  ours  the  moral  results  of 
the  several  subsequent  centuries  of  progressive 
Christianity  ."^ 

Priest  having  succumbed  to  prince,  with  the 
increasing  knowledge  and  intercourse  of  the  times 
wealth  and  civilization  spread  among  the  aristoc- 
racy of  either  class,  and  with  them  a  new  style 
of  domestic  architecture,  combining  greater  com- 
fort and  luxury,  but  wholly  divested  of  the  relig- 
ious feeling  of  its  predecessor.  Its  early  inspira- 
tion was  pride  of  state,  and  its  tendency  was 
directly  the  reverse  of  the  Gothic.  With  the 
revival  of  classical  learning  there  came  a  reaction 
in  the  Christian  sentiment  of  art.  In  the  exag- 
gerated spirit  of  a  new  love,  artists  for  a  while 
went  blindly  over  to  classicalism,  as  well  for  sub- 
jects as  law.  But  as  it  was  impossible  to  revive 
the  feeling  of  antiquity,  the  result  was  that  its 
forms  alone  became  fashionable.  They  were  used 
more  as  fragments  than  as  wholes,  and  with  but 
little  regard  to  their  original  meaning  or  purpose, 
in  the  formation  of  what  is  generally  known  as 
the  Renaissant  style.  However  diversified  is  this 
architecture  in  various  countries  by  its  odd  blend- 
ing of  antique  ornament  and  rule  with  modern 
national  characteristics,  tastes,  and  necessities, 
everywhere  proclaiming  a  bastard  or  transition 

*  This  opinion  does  not  refer  to  the  question  of  the  feasi- 
bility of  uniting  to  Gothic  architecture  the  domestic  require- 
ments of  the  modern  home,  but  only  to  the  average  conditioia 
of  houses  of  the  Middle  Ages. 


128 


RENAISSANT  SHAMS, 


art,  yet  it  still  maintains  one  universal  tone  of 
secular,  in  opposition  to  religious,  feeling,  and 
might  with  more  propriety  be  termed  the  Palatial 
style.  Its  prevailing  essence  is  far  from  being 
the  intellection  of  Greek  art,  from  which  it  sought 
its  learning.  Created  as  it  was  to  meet  the  wants 
and  refinements  of  the  aristocratic  classes,  at  a 
time  when  the  deep,  vigorous,  and  devotional 
Gothic  sentiment  had  been  succeeded  by  skepti- 
cism or  inquiry,  both  in  church  and  state,  and  the 
latter,  having  overborne  the  former  as  the  govern- 
ing power,  was  elate  with  pride  and  sensual  de- 
sire, it  necessarily  embodied  in  full  the  predomi- 
nating character  of  the  new  phase  of  civil  life. 
Unhappily,  it  was  ambitious,  arrogant,  haughty, 
corrupt,  and  deceitful.  Equally  with  church- 
craft  it  sought  to  keep  mankind  in  a  perpetual 
condition  of  caste  for  its  own  aggrandizement. 
Wherever  we  find  notable  examples  of  its  archi- 
tecture we  perceive  this  sentiment,  as  much  in 
oligarchal  Venice  as  in  despotic  Spain  or  abso- 
lute France.  Under  its  influence  God's  houses 
of  prayer  became  temples  to  the  pride  and  glory 
of  man.  Their  long  vistas  of  slender  shafts  and 
colored  windows  were  set  aside  for  a  pedantic 
style  of  ornamentation  made  up  of  pilfered  clas- 
sical pilasters  and  columns ;  for  barren  walls, 
broken  by  graceless  windows  and  stiff,  proud 
doors  ;  for  pagan  devices  and  ornaments,  divested 
of  their  natural  significance  and  appropriateness, 
or  changed  into  nothingness  of  expression  by  a 
debased  taste  or  ignorant  thought,  and  added,  in 
empty  meaning,  to  Christian  churches ;  for  a  cold 


SPIRIT  OF  TEE  PALATIAL.  129 

magnificence  of  polished  marbles  and  precious 
stones ;  for  curtains  of  bronze  and  draperies  of 
marble,  monstrosities  of  art,  valued  solely  on  ac- 
count of  manual  difficulties  overcome ;  for  vast 
areas,  surmounted  by  huge  domes,  the  emblems 
of  man's  earthly  dominion,  but  suggesting  no 
outlet  to  heaven ;  for  a  palace  counterfeiting 
the  sanctuary,  the  lie  to  God  as  plain  upon  its 
walls  as  lust  and  pride  in  the  human  heart ;  for 
sepulchres  of  rulers  and  mausoleums  to  warriors  ; 
for  St.  Peter's  of  Rome,  St.  Paul's  of  London, 
the  Pantheon  and  Invalides  of  Paris,  and  the 
Kazan  of  St.  Petersburg  ;  —  for  these  and  their 
like  were  discarded  the  York  and  Salisbury  Min- 
sters, the  Strasbourg,  Rheims,  and  Amiens  Cathe- 
drals, the  St.  Stephen's  of  Venice,  Notre  Dame 
and  St.  Denis  of  France,  the  Duomos  of  Florence, 
Siena,  Pisa,  and  many  others,  which,  thank  God, 
still  exist,  though  shorn  of  their  perfect  glory,  to 
rebuke  the  sensuality  and  arrogance  of  mere  state 
religion. 

We  do  not  wish  to  be  understood  as  utterly 
condemning  Palatial  architecture,  except  as  ap- 
plied to  religion.  For  state  or  domestic  purposes, 
when  chastened  in  the  true  spirit  of  art,  it  is 
peculiarly  applicable.  But  the  supremacy  it  so 
rapidly  attained  in  the  outset  of  its  career  was 
almost  fatal  to  religious  architecture,  which  it 
completely  harlotized,  and  turned  into  a  magazine 
of  stolen  goods.  Its  inherent  spirit  is  hostile  to 
devout  thought,  for  it  savors  of  luxury,  magnifi- 
cence, elegance,  and  those  qualities  which  more 
directly  spring  from  the  pride  of  civil  wealth, 


130  SPIRIT  OF  THE  PALATIAL, 


power,  and  rank.  It  has  easier  scope  and  adapt- 
ability to  modern  utilitarian  and  asstlietic  ideas 
than  the  Gothic.  It  is  a  composite  of  pilferings 
of  antiquity  and  modern  barrenness  of  inventive 
idea,  the  chief  merit  of  the  architect  being  in 
composing,  not  in  creating,  a  building.  Forced 
into  the  service  of  domestic  life,  few  architects 
have  been  successful  in  concealing  or  dignifying 
the  common  material  necessities  of  the  new  uses 
it  is  put  to.  And  yet  the  Palatial  has  its  good 
as  well  as  its  evil  side,  according  to  our  applica- 
tion of  its  capacities.  As  it  promises  to  be  mod- 
ified and  expanded  by  the  present  century,  and 
as  adopted  by  the  people,  subjected  throughout 
to  the  ordeal  of  good  taste  and  perfected  knowl- 
edge, it  proclaims  a  superiority  in  morals  and 
domestic  habits  over  those  shown  in  mediaeval 
home  architecture  and  urban  life.  In  this  respect, 
we  must  admit  its  value  as  evidence  of  social  prog- 
ress. It  betokens,  also,  intellectual  growth.  We 
now  require  that  external  conditions  should  be 
mated  to  loftier  and  purer  internal  perceptions. 
Refinement,  cleanliness,  the  intercourse  of  the  sex- 
es, and  domestic  convenience,  are  differently  under- 
stood in  the  nineteenth  century  from  the  four- 
teenth, or  even  the  seventeenth.  Consequently, 
the  primary  demands  are  now  not,  as  formerly,  foi 
colors  and  forms  to  gratify  the  lust  of  the  eye,  but 
for  raiment,  habitations,  and  amusements  suitable 
to  a  superior  standard  of  living.  The  science  of 
life  is  being  more  closely  investigated  and  better 
understood  ;  higher  purposes  are  unfolding  them- 
selves.   Meanwhile,  though  architecture  loses  in 


SPIRIT  OF  THE  PALATIAL.  131 


the  wild  picturesque,  and  life  is  divested  of  much 
that  is  seductive  and  beautiful,  and  art  is  robbed 
of  its  spirituality,  we  may  be  certain  that  the 
loss  is  only  for  a  season.  Life  and  art  are  pre- 
paring for  higher  flights,  out  of  which  will  be 
evolved  a  union  of  those  qualities  of  heart  and 
mind  most  conducive  to  the  progress  and  happi- 
ness of  mankind. 


CHAPTER  XL 


Classical  and  Christian  Domestic  Art  compared.  —  Influence 
of  Climate  upon  Art,  —  of  Race.  —  Why  Christianity^  pre- 
fers Painting  to  Sculpture.  —  Respective  Merits  of  the  Two. 
—  Classical  Taste  delights  in  Human  P'igure,  —  Modern 
Taste,  in  Landscape.  —  The  Reformation  and  Northern 
Schools.  —  Protestantism  and  Romanism  as  Art-Motives. 

T  will  aid  our  estimate  of  the  effect  of 
Christianity  upon  art  to  note  one  fact  of 
the  domestic  life  of  antiquity,  as  com- 
pared with  the  modern.  Fortunately  for  this 
purpose,  we  have  Pompeii  and  Herculaneum  to 
furnish  an  authentic  illustration  of  the  former. 
In  both  towns  Greek  and  Roman  art  were  inti- 
mately blended,  and  neither  was  overwhelmed 
until  classical  civilization  was  in  its  prime.  With 
the  beauty,  ingenuity,  and  religious  significance  of 
much  of  their  household  art  we  are  as  familiar 
as  with  our  own.  Indeed,  their  designs  enter 
largely  into  modern  work,  solely  on  account  of 
their  value  as  ornament.  The  faith  from  which 
they  borrowed  their  feeling  having  become  a 
fable,  the  only  interest  it  has  to  the  Christian 
mind  is  that  of  philosophical  inquiry  as  to  its 
effects  upon  our  race. 

We  have  before  alluded  to  the  different  moral 


IMPURITY  OF  PAGAN  ART.  133 

estimation,  based  upon  religious  ideas,  in  which 
sexual  intercourse  and  the  mystery  of  generation 
were  held  by  the  ancients  and  moderns.  The 
license  which  the  sensual  views  of  the  former 
admitted  in  social  habits  and  fashions  was  such  as 
Christianity,  in  no  age,  would  tolerate ;  and  yet, 
almost  the  first  and  weightiest  charge  brought 
against  the  infant  Christian  communities  by  pa- 
gan authorities  was  that  of  promiscuous  debauch- 
ery. 

That  Paganism  countenanced  and  even  en- 
forced licentiousness,  the  erotic  rites  of  temple- 
worship  at  Babylon  and  Corinth,  and  the  popular 
opinion  held  of  the  goddess  Venus,  sufficiently 
prove.  It  can,  therefore,  be  no  matter  of  sur- 
prise that  the  standard  of  chastity  was  far  lower 
under  the  influence  of  heathen  mythology  than 
it  is  under  the  soul-cleansing  precepts  of  Jesus. 
Purity  of  manner  and  speech,  as  now  under- 
stood, proceeding  from  a  spiritual  cleanness  of 
heart,  was,  in  the  general,  unknown.  Conse- 
quently, language,  emblems,  and  pictorial  and 
sculptured  representations,  which  are  now  deserv- 
edly considered  as  obscene,  and  in  their  spirit 
corrupting,  were  then  complacently  or  indiffer- 
ently viewed  by  all  classes,  and  even  entered 
largely  into  domestic  life.  While  a  portion  of 
these  art-objects  were,  doubtless,  free  from  in- 
tentional immorality,  being  simply  upon  the  level 
of  feeling  of  the  age,-  and  therefore  provocative 
of  no  excess  in  it,  there  were  numberless  others 
too  evidently  the  base  and  disgusting  craft  of 
impure  imaginations,  and  hearts  steeped  in  the 


134         PURITY  OF  CHRISTIAN  ART, 


lowest  dregs  of  profligacy.  No  one  who  has 
not  seen  specimens  of  these  vile  creations,  the 
more  poisonous  because  attractive  from  their  ar- 
tistic beauty  and  spirit,  can  conceive  the  depth 
of  degradation  of  the  heathen  mind  in  this  re- 
spect. The  simple  fact,  that,  in  disinterring 
pagan  art,  it  becomes  necessary  to  remove  from 
public  sight  a  certain  proportion  of  its  works, 
exemplifies  the  essential  difference  between  it  and 
Christianity,  in  the  publicly  recognized  degrees 
of  purity  of  mind  and  chastity  of  conduct. 

However  immoral  in  thought  and  action  may 
be  the  moderns,  there  is  nothing  in  their  public 
or  private  household  art,  of  any  age,  which  would 
require,  on  the  score  of  morality,  a  similar  obUv- 
ion.  Such  of  their  art  as  is  exceptional  is  chiefly 
based  upon  classical  example  and  taste.  In  gen- 
eral, especially  when  its  unenlightened  feeling 
was  most  active,  during  the  early  and  middle 
ages,  we  find,  alike  in  church,  house,  and  tomb, 
an  art-motive  suggestive  of  purity  and  self-disci- 
pline. Faith,  hope,  charity,  redemption,  and  sac- 
rifice, the  ascetic  extinguishment  of  carnal  de- 
sires, the  certain  future  misery  of  the  wicked 
and  the  eternal  joy  of  the  devout,  martyrs'  suf- 
ferings and  triumphs,  the  holy  "  Virgin's  "  immac- 
ulate purity,  God  incarnated  in  man,  a  crucified 
Redeemer,  the  solemn  scenes  of  the  final  atone- 
ment, and  similar  imagery,  were  depicted  every- 
where, on  wall,  furniture,  or  jewel.  Opposed  to 
the  sensuous  pleasures  and  sensual  gratifications 
of  the  mythological  sentiment,  was,  conspicuous 
above  all,  the  body-subduing  and  reverential  awe 


EFFECT  OF  CLIMATES. 


135 


of  the  newer  faith,  far  in  advance  of  the  actual 
practice  of  its  confessors,  it  is  true,  but  always 
kept  artistically  in  view  as  their  possible  stand- 
ard. 

A  certain  tendency  to  sensuous  and  sensual 
extremes,  the  exaltation  of  the  physical  over  the 
spiritual,  and  of  the  grotesque  and  vulgar  above 
the  pure,  natural,  and  refined,  does,  however,  ob- 
tain in  that  branch  of  Christian  art  which,  imitat- 
ing antiquity,  under  the  guidance  of  the  corrupt 
taste  and  pride  of  power  of  its  princely  patrons, 
partook  in  feeling  of  the  base  and  low.  But  the 
Christian  idea  has  now  become  so  firmly  rooted 
in  the  public  mind  that  these  are  looked  upon  as 
the  warnings  of  a  perverted  knowledge  and  will, 
and  exercise  no  influence  except  as  examples  of 
pernicious  art. 

Although  religion  everywhere  has  been  the 
chief  inspiration  of  art,  climate  has  also  had  an 
influence  too  important  to  be  overlooked.  It  has 
contributed  greatly  to  the  quantity  of  art-develop- 
ment among  certain  races,  in  comparison  with  the 
mechanical,  or  that  more  particularly  belonging 
to  the  needs  of  the  body.  In  those  latitudes 
where  nature,  by  her  luxuriance  and  beauty,  sug- 
gests primarily  sensuous  enjoyment  as  the  object 
of  life,  where  her  bounties  are  prolific  and  her 
stimulus  to  pleasure  active,  arf  becomes  a  pre- 
dominating expression  of  civilization.  To  feel, 
see,  taste,  and  breathe  the  beautiful ;  to  indulge 
largely  in  ornament ;  to  polish,  carve,  mould,  paint, 
and  build,  wholly  for  its  sake  ;  to  spontaneously 
express  the  ruling  sentiment,  passion,  and  thought 


136  EFFECT  OF  CLIMATES, 


in  song,  music,  sculpture,  painting,  and  architecture, 
exalting  in  all  things  beauty  of  form  and  color 
above  absolute  convenience  and  utility,  feeling 
above  reason,  —  this  is  the  prevailing  tendency 
of  those  climates  which  possess  the  warm  and 
genial  skies  of  the  South,  without  the  extremes 
of  heat  and  luxuriant  vegetation  of  the  tropics. 
Southern  Asia,  Egypt,  Italy,  Greece,  Spain,  Central 
America,  Polynesia,  in  short,  all  countries  whose 
inhabitants  live  under  favorable  out-door  condi- 
tions of  climate,  develop  their  civilization  mainly 
in  the  art-direction. 

Northward,  the  English  and  kindred  races  of 
America  and  Europe,  stimulated  by  rigors  of  cli- 
mate, turn  their  attention  first  towards  absolute 
use.  Nature  tends  to  in-door  life.  Protection 
of  body  becomes  a  primary  care.  While  in 
Southern  Europe  the  love  of  beauty  supersedes 
utility,  producing  in  abundance  artists  skilled  in 
ornamentation,  it  provides  but  a  poor  class  of 
household  mechanics.  The  populace  are  indiffer- 
ent to  ill-contrived  windows,  doors,  latches,  and 
locks,  —  accessible  easily  to  thief  or  wind,  —  un- 
even floors,  and  furniture  and  domestic  and  agri- 
cultural utensils  of  awkward  shape  and  coarse 
workmanship,  though  even  in  these  latter  there  is 
large  attempt  at  mere  adornment,  as  we  often  see 
in  the  ox-carts  and  carriages  of  the  Italian  peas- 
antry, which,  although  heavy  and  clumsy  in  the 
extreme,  are  profusely  covered  with  artistic  de- 
signs in  paint,  while  the  trappings  of  their  ani- 
mals are  brilliant  with  gilt  and  feathers.  Fres- 
cos, statuary,  carving,  moulding,  and  painting  re- 


EFFECT  OF  CLIMATES. 


137 


joice  the  eye  in  all  quarters,  and  seemingly  com 
pensate  for  the  numerous  defects  in  manufacture 
and  building.    Their  chiefest  enjoyment  lies  out- 
side their  thresholds. 

Far  otherwise  is  it  at  the  North.  Doors  and 
windows  must  be  nicely  adjusted,  or  disease  en- 
ters. Amusement  centres  at  the  fireside.  Hence 
all  that  can  render  that  comfortable,  as  a  compen- 
sation for  an  unsmiling  atmosphere  outside,  is  of 
primary  consequence.  Art  is  mainly  of  exotic 
growth  in  such  countries.  To  succeed  at  all  it 
must  first  be  nursed  under  its  new-found  skies.  A 
taste  for  the  beautiful,  for  its  own  sake,  requires 
to  be  cultivated  by  the  importation  of  its  objects 
and  the  study  of  its  principles.  It  does  not 
spring  up  spontaneously,  and  equally  with  the 
indigenous  mechanical  talent,  which  looks  to  com- 
fort, luxury,  and  facility  in  all  that  relates  to 
matter,  either  as  the  servant  or  tyrant  of  mind. 
As  out-door  life  leads  to  action  and  expression, 
so  in-door  life  tends  to  repose  and  reflection. 
Freedom,  which  from  analogy  one  would  suppose 
to  lean  more  to  the  former,  on  the  contrary  finds 
its  home  chiefly  with  the  latter,  and  with  it  those 
agents  of  science  that  most  contribute  to  national 
growth,  namely,  steam,  electricity,  manufacture, 
coal,  iron,  education,  inquiry,  free  trade,  and  liberty 
of  speech,  faith,  and  press  ;  in  short,  scope  for  hu- 
manity to  indefinitely  expand  through  individual 
development.  These  agents  of  rationalistic  and 
material  progress  have  a  tendency  to  move  south- 
ward to  meet  the  wants  of  the  Southern  races, 
just  as  their  aesthetic  development  constantly 


138 


TO  FEEL:  TO  INQUIRE. 


gravitates  northward,  to  counterbalance  our  too 
prosaic  civilization. 

In  some  countries,  like  France  and  portions  of 
Germany,  the  sensuous  absolutism  of  the  one 
form  of  civilization  in  its  present  phase,  church 
and  state  mutually  conspiring  to  keep  their  sub- 
jects mentally  stationary  through  seduction  or 
force,  meets  the  wave  of  popular  thought  and 
freedom  from  the  North,  and  by  it  is  tempered 
into  some  respect  for  the  rights  of  the  people  to 
inquire  into  the  origin  and  nature  of  the  art,  law, 
science,  and  religion,  developed  among  or  imposed 
upon  them.  Thus,  it  would  seem,  there  are  now 
two  counterbalancing  streams  of  mind,  having 
their  fountain-heads  in  widely  apart  latitudes,  but 
from  the  attraction  of  mutual  wants  flowing  to- 
wards each  other,  although  diverse  in  their  pres- 
ent political  associations,  —  the  one  more  directly 
the  offspring  of  feeling,  and  the  other  of  reason ; 
both  in  equalized  proportions  and  perfect  free- 
dom being  necessary  to  a  complete  civilization. 

While,  therefore,  the  art-impulse  is  common  to 
mankind,  it  is  evident  that  climate  stimulates  the 
aesthetic  development  more  in  some  nations  than 
in  others.  To  feel,  is  the  primary  tendency  of 
the  Southern  temperament ;  of  the  Northern,  to 
inquire ;  the  one  developing  greater  grace  of 
manner,  and  the  other  superior  knowledge  ;  but 
both,  through  the  common  infirmity  of  human 
nature,  having  a  leaning  towards  the  sensual  and 
material,  and  confounding  the  inspiration  which 
stirs  them,  with  the  pleasures  of  mere  sense. 
Of  the  old  races,  the  Greeks  best  united  sen- 


CHRISTIANITY  PURIFIES  ART, 


139 


suous  and  philosophical  culture,  resulting  in  the 
highest  degree  of  mythological  civilization,  and 
which  failed  from  no  sufficient  standard  of  ethics. 

The  world  is  indebted  to  Jesus  for  the  highest 
revelation  of  future  life  and  the  purest  standard 
of  morality.  From  his  example  and  precepts  has 
been  evolved  the  present  doctrine  of  divine  spir- 
ituality seeking  ever  to  incarnate  itself  in  flesh. 
Christianity  offers  to  humanity  an  untold  prog- 
ress, even  on  earth.  All  shortcomings  of  human 
nature  are  directly  traceable  to  an  insufficiency 
of  its  spirit  in  the  heart  of  man.  Empire  and 
individual  go  down  as  they  neglect  its  inspiration. 
Yet  so  vital  is  it  with  divinity,  and  so  fitted  to 
the  necessities  of  our  race  as  teacher  and  com- 
forter, that,  through  every  experiment  and  failure, 
men  cling  to  it  with  renewed  hope  and  energy, 
and  with  a  clearer  understanding  of  its  require- 
ments. 

We  have  seen  that  its  immediate  effect  was  to 
purify  art  of  its  pagan-sensual  element.  Subse- 
quently, it  enlarged  its  scope  so  as  not  only  to 
embrace  all  nature,  as  the  image  of  the  one  God, 
and  therefore  worthy  of  the  notice  of  man,  but 
also  gradually  led  it  to  condescend  to  every  ob- 
ject, however  humble,  which  was  dear  to  his  re- 
newed heart.  Eightly  viewed.  Christian  taste 
exacts  a  much  higher  standard  of  excellence  in 
the  choice  of  subjects,  because  it  requires  every- 
thing it  touches  to  be  spiritually  pure ;  and  at  the 
same  time  it  is  so  meek  and  discerning  that  it 
calls  nothing  unclean  that  God  has  made.  As 
yet  we  ha^  e  seen  simply  suggestions,  rather  than 


140     PAINTING  DOMINATES  SCULPTURE, 

proofs,  of  its  art  -  capacity.  Consequently,  in 
treating  of  its  art  as  it  is  and  has  been,  we  speak 
of  it  only  as  in  an  imperfect  or  partially  devel- 
oped condition,  arising  from  the  counteraction  of 
earthly  forces,  and  the  inadequacy  of  present 
knowledge  of  material  to  control  and  adequately 
represent  its  idea. 

Christianity  introduced  another  change  into  art. 
It  secured  the  predominance  of  painting  over 
sculpture,  particularly  in  those  countries  which, 
embracing  Greek  Catholicism,  regard  graven  im- 
ages as  idolatrous.  Having  loftier  emotions  and 
grander  thoughts  to  express  than  paganism,  it 
required  a  more  facile  medium  for  its  art  than 
stone.  Sculpture  appeals  for  recognition  more 
directly  to  spirit,  because  under  no  conditions, 
however  clever,  can  it  be  mistaken  for  the  thing 
itself.  It  resembles  its  subject  only  in  form  and 
feeling,  and  suggests  life  rather  than  represents 
it.  From  the  qualities  of  its  material,  it  is  neces- 
sarily limited  in  motive  and  treatment  by  subtle 
and  rigorous  rules. 

Painting,  on  the  contrary,  aspires  to  produce 
relief,  perspective,  and  space  on  a  flat  surface, 
and  to  depict  soul  under  all  conditions  of  passion, 
sentiment,  or  thought.  It  has  a  wider  range  of 
ideas  or  motives,  and  a  larger  scope  of  expression 
and  execution.  Hence  its  modern  universality 
in  art.  If  some  critics  are  disposed  to  exalt 
sculpture  above  painting,  as  an  art-vehicle,  it 
is  because  the  former  has  attained,  through  the 
inspiration  of  mythology,  a  degree  of  perfection 
which  the  latter  has  not  yet  arrived  at.  But 


ANCIENTS  PREFERRED  SCULPTURE,  141 


the  degrees  and  qualities  of  enjoyment  arising 
from  the  two  forms  of  art  are  so  distinct  that  we 
may  enjoy  each  after  its  kind  without  a  hint  of 
rivalry,  as  we  do  music  and  poetry. 

The  partiality  of  the  ancients  for  sculpture 
was  founded,  no  doubt,  in  part  upon  their  peculiar 
views  of  the  natural  world.  Failing  to  develop 
the  modern  theory,  that  all  nature  is  the  result  of 
certain  general  laws  under  the  guidance  of  one 
divine  will,  to  their  perceptions  each  of  its  phe- 
nomena or  aspects  suggested  a  special  agency 
or  ruling  spirit,  having  more  or  less  the  appear- 
ance of  man,  or  arbitrarily  compounded  of  lower 
forms,  familiar  to  their  sight.  As  this  system 
was  the  child  of  poetry,  and  not  of  science, 
while  it  recognized  in  a  deeper  degree  than  the 
modern  the  vital  or  spiritual  essence  of  natural 
things,  it  was  in  practice  vague,  fanciful,  and 
often  conflicting.  Although  its  personifications 
were  not  always  in  harmony  with  each  other, 
still  they  were  deities  possessing  a  tangible  ex- 
istence to  heathen  imaginations.  All  nature  was 
animated  with  them.  They  saw  not,  as  we  see, 
sky,  earth,  vegetation,  and  water,  in  their  simple 
elementary  distinctions  ;  but,  in  their  impatience 
to  get  at  the  hving  secret  of  these  glorious  ob- 
jects, and  to  identify  their  uses  and  beauty  more 
directly  and  familiarly  with  themselves,  they  either 
overlooked  the  great  truth  of  truths,  divine  unity, 
or,  obeying  the  dim  intuitions  of  a  few  philoso- 
phers, erected  ambiguous  altars  to  the  "  Unknown 
God,"  thus  filling  their  world  with  countless  di- 
vinities of  every  kind.    Consequently,  their  art, 


142       STATUARY  OF  THE  ANCIENTS. 


having  to  deal  mainly  with  idealized  forms,  took 
more  particularly  the  direction  of  sculpture.  So 
strong  was  their  bias  for  it,  that  they  frequently 
sought  to  give  to  it  the  scope  and  power  of  paint- 
ing. A  number  of  antique  bas-reliefs  still  exist, 
possessing  much  of  the  feeling  of  the  sister-art. 
In  bronze  sculpture,  there  are  fine  examples  em- 
bodying so  much  of  the  peculiar  force  of  painting 
that  we  feel  its  sensuousness  and  hardly  miss  the 
color.  Of  this  character  are  the  Mercury,  Leap- 
ing and  Dancing  Fauns,  and  drunken  Bacchus, 
of  the  Museo  Borbonico.  In  fact,  classical  paint- 
ing, as  we  know  it,  seems  to  be  a  branch  of  sculpt- 
ure. This  appears  by  the  predominance  of  figure- 
drawing,  to  which  is  given  the  vigor,  grace,  and 
purity  of  outline  and  expression  of  statuary.  If 
we  examine  the  numerous  frescos  rescued  from 
Pompeii,  Herculaneum,  and  Stabise,  we  find  a 
genuine  love  for  color  and  a  manifest  delight  in 
its  charms ;  but  it  is  wholly  subordinate  to  the 
display  of  human  and  deified  form  and  action. 
Compared  with  modern  art,  the  knowledge  of  the 
ancients  of  its  capacities  seems  crude  and  impul- 
sive. We  have  not,  however,  their  best  speci- 
mens of  painting  to  judge  from,  and  in  conse- 
quence may  undeservedly  depreciate  their  skill. 

Between  ancient  and  modern  times,  the  two 
phases  of  love  and  knowledge  respectively  of 
landscape  and  figure-drawing  are  reversed.  Mod- 
ern artists  have  much  to  learn  of  the  human 
figure  from  classical  sculpture  and  painting.  In 
return,  our  time  could  teach  a  valuable  lesson  to 
the  antique  world  of  the  meaning  and  value  of 


PAPAL  ART  ARISTOCRATIC.  143 

natural  scenery.  The  love  of  the  comic,  gro- 
tesque, and  fanciful,  is  common  to  both.  But  the 
appreciation  of  the  ancients  is  chiefly  bestowed 
on  ornamentation  and  the  ridiculous.  The  Boy 
with  the  Mask  in  the  Villa  Albani  at  Rome  is  a 
notable  instance  in  sculpture.  In  general,  the 
moderns  display  more  wit  and  humor,  though  the 
antique  Cupid  entangled  in  the  Folds  of  a  Dol- 
phin, in  the  Museo  Borbonico  at  Naples,  conveys 
a  quiet  sense  of  intellectual  drollery  inimitable  in 
its  way. 

The  current  of  Christian  art  lay,  very  gener- 
ally, in  the  direction  of  the  popular  religious  feel- 
ing, until  the  Reformation,  when  it  separated  into 
two  distinct  streams,  flowing  from  opposite  foun- 
tain-heads, and  which  may,  with  propriety,  be 
termed  Papal  and  Protestant,  from  the  character 
of  mind  animating  each,  or  Aristocratic  and  Dem- 
ocratic, as  respects  the  comparative  considera- 
tion given  to  individual  freedom  under  the  polit- 
ical auspices  of  one  or  the  other.  The  art  of 
the  former  corresponded  to  its  architecture.  It 
was  palatial,  princely,  hierarchical,  academic,  con- 
ventional ;  a  thing  of  out-door  grandeur  and  am- 
bition ;  a  contribution  to  galleries,  churches,  state 
pride,  and  ecclesiastical  pomp.  Like  antique  art, 
it  has  no  genuine  delight  in  rural  scenes.  It  pre- 
fers the  architecture  of  man  to  the  architecture 
of  God.  The  love  of  the  country  and  common 
life  is  foreign  to  its  taste.  Its  most  finished  land- 
scape is  represented  by  Domenichino,  Claude, 
Salvator,  and  the  Poussins,  —  beautiful  in  certain 
qualities,  elevated  in  idea,  refined  or  forcible  in 


144      PROTESTANT  ART  DEMOCRATIC. 


execution,  but  cold,  pretentious,  artificial,  chiefly 
classical  in  motive,  and  in  no  sense  of  the  peo- 
ple. Indeed,  this  type  of  art  finds  no  charm  in 
simple  nature.  Neither  has  it  a  domestic  senti- 
ment, but  is  exhibited  to  the  people  as  something 
too  exalted  to  be  intrusted  to  their  keeping,  and 
jealously  preserved,  in  motive,  from  other  inspi- 
ration than  that  of  established  religion,  classical 
learning,  or  princely  rank.  Emphatically,  it  sub- 
sisted upon  the  patronage  of  rulers,  eking  out  a 
precarious  existence,  and  in  Italy,  France,  and 
Spain  gradually  declining  with  their  decline  from 
the  intellectual  superiority  which  first  won  them 
power,  until  it  scarcely  existed  in  name  ;  and,  like 
its  upas  friends,  it  now  survives  in  public  esteem 
only  through  the  influence  of  its  olden  prestige. 

The  Northern  stream,  drifting  with  the  Refor- 
mation, which  restored  to  the  individual  a  portion 
of  his  natural  liberty,  went  home  to  the  people, 
and  became  an  in-door  art,  something  in  topic 
and  treatment  to  enliven  their  firesides,  appeal- 
ing to  their  common  sentiments  and  feelings,  and 
failings,  too,  for  it  was  essentially  human,  and 
loved  the  earthly  natural,  and  spoke  out,  in  ear- 
nest sincerity,  what  the  people  believed  and  liked, 
good  or  bad,  just  as  their  hearts  dictated.  There 
was  but  little  high  art  in  this ;  but  it  was  a  right 
beginning,  leaving  the  popular  mind  to  choose  its 
own  loves,  and,  through  its  own  experience,  to 
advance  gradually  from  lower  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings to  higher.  Compared  with  Southern  art- 
choice,  the  expression  of  the  Northern  is  low.  In 
the  outset  it  represents  humanity  too  exclusively 


DUTCH  ART. 


145 


in  boorish,  sensual,  and  little  aspects.  It  loves 
beer  and  tobacco ;  boar-liunts  and  rough  games  ; 
bar-rooms,  pipes,  brooms,  and  kettles ;  jewelry 
and  satins ;  civic  rank  and  commercial  pride ; 
scenes  of  avarice,  lust,  and  fierce  brawling ;  a 
flat,  monotonous,  unspiritual  landscape,  redolent 
with  the  fat  of  kine  and  herbage ;  foul  kitchens 
and  dirty  maids  ;  parrots  and  puppies,  the  pets 
of  pampered  wealth ;  houses  of  picturesque  ugli- 
ness ;  manners  offensively  blunt,  and  intellects 
as  heavy  and  methodical  as  their  cash-books  and 
ledgers ;  —  in  short,  whatever  a  thrifty,  vulgar- 
minded  race  of  fighters  and  traders,  proud  of 
their  ingots,  their  tables,  and  their  freedom,  de- 
lighted in,  their  artists  presented  with  a  fidelity, 
spirit,  and  richness  of  tone  that  no  future  art  may 
expect  to  excel ;  for  no  subsequent  people,  it  is 
to  be  devoutly  hoped,  will  have  the  same  hearty 
esteem  for  these  things  as  did  the  Dutch  in  their 
early  manhood.  No  artist  has  ever  depicted  the 
avarice  of  the  Jew  like  Kembrandt.  So  his  fel- 
low-artists have,  with  equal  success,  pictured  the 
characters  of  their  countrymen,  by  emptying 
upon  their  canvas  the  feelings  that  consumed 
them,  rising,  in  their  highest  elevation,  to  con- 
vivial or  stately  domesticity,  a  love  of  the  past- 
ures, canals,  and  seas  so  closely  associated  with 
their  riches,  and  but  rarely,  as  if  it  were  an  un- 
popular theme,  giving  indications  of  a  spiritual 
faith  or  life.* 

English  painting  rises  above  this  level,  without 
aspiring  to  high  art.    Fine  art,  technically  con- 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  B. 
10 


146      CHARACTER  OF  PROTESTANT  ART. 


sidered,  is  its  principal  aim.  Its  chief  character- 
istics are  a  wholesome  love  of  nature  and  home- 
life,  delighting  in  portraiture,  landscape,  animals, 
the  sea,  and  whatever  is  connected  with  the  ma- 
terial grandeur  or  prosperity  of  the  nation,  or  the 
social  importance  or  actions  of  the  individual. 
Like  their  civilization,  it  first  plants  itself  firmly 
upon  the  earth,  associating  with  whatever  is  sig- 
nificant of  wealth,  power,  family,  and  station, — - 
at  heart  affectionate  and  moral,  in  appearance 
coldly  decorous,  thoroughly  realistic,  sometimes 
humorous,  seldom  religious,  and  not  often  at- 
tempting the  spiritual  or  imaginative. 

Protestantism  ignores  its  saints,  but  deifies  its 
military  and  civic  heroes,  and  showers  its  honors 
upon  the  tamers  of  men  and  nature,  the  sup- 
porters of  order,  and  stimulators  of  freedom  and 
civilization.  Its  chief  virtue  is  in  human  de- 
velopment on  the  side  of  morality  and  worldly 
prosperity.  Hell  is  indeed  a  place  of  positive 
torment ;  but  heaven  is  a  vague,  undefinable 
happiness,  with  no  definite  period  of  realization 
for  the  soul.  Both  doctrinally  vibrate  between 
the  hour  of  death  and  an  unfixed  day  of  judg- 
ment. There  is  no  settled  condition  between 
burial  and  the  deferred  resurrection  of  the  dead. 
Church  government  is  an  affair  of  state  patron- 
age or  popular  suffrage,  and  is  either  extremely 
aristocratic  or  democratic.  Strictly  speaking,  it 
has  no  absolute,  independent  existence,  and  rec- 
ognizes neither  traditions,  martyrs,  nor  a  celestial 
court.  There  are  no  personal  intermediates  be- 
tween God  and  man.    Face  to  face  he  would 


ITS  FINAL  DESTINY. 


147 


speak  to  Him,  or  not  at  all.  Consequently,  rec- 
ognizing in  its  most  literal  sense  the  second  com- 
mandment of  Sinai,  the  Protestant  confines  liis  art 
to  the  earthly  range  of  humanity,  leaving  in  the 
main  untouched  its  spiritual  capacities,  and  de- 
picting only  those  scenes  and  feelings  that  are  on 
a  level  with  the  popular  material  apprehension. 
Protestantism  reasons  more  than  it  feels.  It  is 
the  logic  of  liberty  and  progress.  As  yet  it  is 
imperfectly  understood,  and,  narrowed  by  politi- 
cal, social,  and  commercial  interests,  it  shows  it- 
self selfish,  monopolizing,  and  ambitious ;  never- 
theless, under  the  impulse  of  the  growing  demo- 
cratic mind,  it  is  a  mighty,  self-expanding  power, 
destined  to  conquer  the  world,  and  ultimately  open 
to  mankind  new  heavens  and  a  new  earth,  before 
whose  radiance,  error,  superstition,  and  tyranny 
shall  pass  away  in  the  smoke  of  their  own  torment. 

This  we  conceive  to  be  the  ultimate  destiny  of 
Protestantism.  But,  viewing  it  simply  in  its  re- 
lation with  art-motive  and  execution,  as  com- 
pared with  the  matured  results  of  its  antagonistic 
element,  the  Papal,  or  Conservative,  which  rep- 
resents the  general  principle  of  retention  of  power 
and  religious  stagnation,  and  is  frequently  as  self- 
ishly and  fanatically  displayed  under  Protestant 
as  Catholic  forms,  the  latter  is  vastly  its  superior. 
To  art  it  ofiers  the  infinite  range  of  religious  im- 
agination, inspired  by  its  saints  and  martyrs,  a 
glorious  host  that  no  man  may  number ;  legends 
golden  with  supernatural  love,  faith,  and  charity ; 
traditions  that  bring  angels  down  among  men; 
relics  more  potent  in  miracles  than  nature  in  law ; 


148         WHAT  CATHOLICISM  OFFERS, 

a  heavenly  and  an  earthly  hierarchy  ;  orders  and 
ranks  of  celestial  beings ;  spiritual  presences  ever 
about  living  men  ;  a  purgatory  in  which  to  expiate 
the  unrepented  sin  of  life  ;  a  hell  if  possible  more 
vast  and  suggestive  than  enters  into  the  concep- 
tion of  the  Protestant  mind  ;  a  heaven  more  attrac- 
tive in  individual  joys  and  associations  of  heart ;  a 
goddess-mother,  of  virgin  purity  and  maternal  con- 
sciousness, to  love  and  intercede  for  men ;  a  hu- 
man god,  tempted  and  suffering  like  one  of  us 
and  for  us  ;  a  Father  of  all,  the  omniscient  ruler 
of  the  universe,  yet  not  wholly  beyond  the  ambition 
of  the  human  faculty  to  seek  to  personify ;  an  easy 
forgiveness  of  sins ;  deeds  before  faith ;  all  pen- 
ance, discipline,  and  donation  to  the  church  to  be 
repaid  a  thousand-fold  in  the  heaven  of  which  it 
holds  the  keys:  such  is  the  boundless  field  the 
Papal  element  of  Christianity  offers  to  art. 

Under  such  inspirations,  and  fifteen  hundred 
years  of  watchful  experience,  of  patronage  of  priest 
and  king,  and  devotion  of  subject,  what  matter  of 
surprise  that  Papal  art  should  excel  the  humble 
beginnings  of  its  new-born  rival  ?  But  its  triumphs 
are  of  the  past.  Its  life-blood  is  oozing  away  from 
self-inflicted  wounds.  Decadence  is  everywhere 
written  on  it.  Architecture  will  not  again  employ 
itself  in  erecting  cathedrals  in  the  likeness  of  the 
old,  nor  state-temples  of  worship  patterned  after 
St.  Peter's.  The  unfinished  remain  as  the  medi- 
aeval spirit  left  them.  It  is  with  difiiculty  that 
many  of  them  are  kept  in  repair,  and  even  these 
more  as  archaeological  monuments  than  places  of 
worship.    Restoration,  indeed,  revives  old  forms 


JESUITISM  IN  RELIGIOUS  ART.  149 


and  many  ancient  churches,  in  Italy  and  France 
particularly,  by  the  antiquarian  zeal  of  communi- 
ties and  governments,  have  been  made  in  their 
main  points  to  look  in  the  nineteenth  century 
pretty  much  as  they  did  in  the  twelfth  and  thir- 
teenth. They  have  become,  however,  in  the  main, 
mere  sanctuaries  of  artists  and  sight-seers,  emp- 
ty shells  of  an  exiled  faith,  which  only  great  cere- 
monials can  fill.  The  places  of  worship  of  mod- 
ern fashion,  if  worship  it  can  be  called,  are  those 
churches  whose  style  is  represented  by  the  mere- 
tricious Madeleines  and  Notre  Dame  de  Lorettes 
of  Paris,  Annunciata  of  Florence,  and  the  gaud 
and  foolery  of  the  "  Company  of  Jesus "  every- 
where, and,  in  its  best  estate,  by  that  haughty 
Renaissant  cathedral  belonging  to  the  Benedictine 
convent  at  Monte  Casino,  near  San  Germano,  in 
the  kingdom  of  Naples,  whose  lavish  wealth,  and 
profuse  adornment  of  precious  stones,  sculptured 
marbles,  frescos,  and  wood-carving,  as  it  stands  in 
its  solitary  eyry  on  that  bleak  mountain-peak, 
contrast  so  strongly  with  the  desolation  about  it,  — 
a  church  that  sinks  St.  Peter's  glory  into  dimness 
in  comparison  with  its  fulness  and  reality  of  orna- 
ment ;  for  there  is  no  cheating  the  eye  here,  but 
all  is  solid  wealth  and  marvellous  magnificence. 
Each  and  all  of  these  edifices,  replete  with  attrac- 
tions for  the  senses,  are  powerless  to  touch  the 
heart. 

Nor  is  fashionable  Protestantism  more  devout 
of  spirit.  It  builds  miniature  cathedrals  and 
pretty  churches,  borrowing  the  architectural  forms 
of  the  obsolete  feeling  of  its  rival  in  sheer  empti- 


150         FASHION  IN  RELIGIOUS  ART, 


ness  of  its  own  artistic  heart,  parodying  an  art 
which  can  never  be  its  own.  Nowhere  are  there 
more  comfortable  lounges  for  sermon- hearing,  re- 
ligious essays,  or  melancholic  psalmody,  than  among 
the  diverse  sects  of  England  and  America ;  but 
they  are  the  sanctuaries  of  riches  and  fine  raiment. 
Poverty  erects  its  humble  altars  apart.  The 
style  and  thought  of  the  palace  have  everywhere 
corrupted  the  temple  of  God,  meretricious  orna- 
ment being  the  object  among  Catholics,  and  lux- 
ury with  Protestants :  both  exalting  the  material 
above  the  spiritual  in  art  and  religion.  In  fact, 
we  are  now  almost  destitute  of  religious  art, 
though  not  without  symptoms  of  its  renewed 
dawn.  Yet  the  religious  sentiment  was  never 
deeper  in  the  heart  of  men  than  now ;  only  they 
cease  to  have  hope  in  their  spiritual  and  civil 
guides,  and  are  slowly  learning  to  lean  more  on 
themselves.  Their  prayers  are  now  oftener  ut- 
tered in  houses  not  made  with  hands.  Religion 
is  beginning  to  find  its  way  from  church  and  state 
to  the  people.  It  will  soon  pass  out  of  the  chrysa- 
lis form  into  the  winged  soul.  Prince  and  priest 
have  long  tried  its  keeping.  Both  have  done 
much  to  advance  humanity.  The  history  of  the 
church  is  full  of  glorious  triumphs.  Its  works 
speak  to  us  through  a  thousand  channels,  which 
we  fail  to  appreciate  in  the  sacrifice  and  energy 
which  created  them,  because,  like  sunlight,  they 
have  now  become  common  property.  So,  too,  of 
state  governments.  Civil  order,  security,  increase 
of  wealth,  fusion  of  races,  and  extinguishment  of 
sectarian  passions  and  national  hatreds,  are  slowly 


NO  GOING  BACK, 


151 


but  surely  preparing  the  way  for  the  universal 
government  based  directly  upon  the  enlightened 
will  of  the  entire  people. 

There  is  vitality  in  Protestantism,  because  it 
permits  the  gradual  unfoldmg  of  the  higher  truths 
which  Romanism  resolutely  opposes.  It  repre- 
sents the  new  progress  in  art,  science,  and  relig- 
ion. Catholicism  can  no  more  revive  its  medi- 
aeval ecclesiastical  power  by  Jesuitical  principles 
than  it  can  its  early  religious  art  through  the 
efforts  of  the  German  Pre-Raphaelites.  Both 
attempts  are  futile,  because  not  in  harmony  with 
the  needs  of  the  age.  The  hope  of  art  now  lies 
in  the  free  principles  of  Protestantism. 


CHAPTER  XIL 


What  Protestantism  offers  to  Art.  —  Its  Scope  of  Idea,  — 
Identification  with  the  People,  —  Fashion,  —  Promise. — 
Dutch  School.  —  English  School.  —  Turner.  —  Blake.  — 
Pre-Eaphaelitism.  —  The  German,  Belgian,  and  French 
Schools,  and  their  Chief  Artists. 

^S^HAT  is  the  new  liberty  in  relation  to  art? 
WolWl  ^™P^y  unlimited  self  -  development. 
^f^^^  Catholicism,  first  in  its  ignorance,  and 
afterwards  by  selfish  policy,  aimed  at  its  restric- 
tion to  a  defined,  dogmatic,  religious  expression. 
But  while  itself  under  the  impetus  of  growth 
and  expansion,  its  art  partook  of  the  same  partial 
freedom  and  noble  energy,  and  to  the  extent  of 
its  liberty  strove  to  be  true  and  spiritual.  Unfor- 
tunately for  its  final  perfection  in  this  direction, 
that  art,  whose  varied  progress  and  lofty  genius 
were  represented  by  Giotto,  Niccola  Pisano,  Or- 
gagna,  Ghiberti,  and  Masaccio,  culminating  in  a 
Raphael,  Titian,  and  Buonarotti,  with  them  passed 
under  princely  patronage,  and  shortly,  in  the 
hands  of  Vasari  and  contemporary  artists,  was 
degraded  into  an  instrument  of  state  pomp  and 
aristocratic  luxury. 

Although  Protestantism  was  the  offspring  of 
freedom  of  thought,  in  its  infancy  it  was  nursed 


PROTESTANT  BREADTH  OF  IDEA,  153 


in  a  theological  despotism  more  severe  than  even 
that  of  Rome.  Emerging  from  error,  corruption, 
and  ecclesiastical  assumption,  its  career  has  been 
a  checkered  one  :  now  verging  upon  wild  infidel- 
ity, and,  as  in  the  first  French  Revolution,  disown- 
ing its  Christian  parentage  ;  then  fanatical  and 
destructive  from  religious  bigotry,  as  with  the 
Scottish  Covenanters  and  German  Anabaptists  : 
by  turns  philosophical,  skeptical,  anarchical,  and 
conservative,  uniting  the  ritual  extremes  of  Pu- 
seyite  and  Quaker,  and  the  theological  antago- 
nisms of  Calvin,  Voltaire,  Fichte,  Kant,  and  Chan- 
ning,  in  its  comprehensiveness  of  idea,  yet  always 
protesting  against  error,  and  essaying  to  prove  all 
things. 

The  question  of  art  is  so  intimately  inter- 
woven with  that  of  civil  and  intellectual  progress, 
that  a  synopsis  of  the  one  implies  a  succinct  view 
of  the  other.  Having  portrayed  its  various  as- 
pects and  principles,  tracing  them  from  the  Clas- 
sical, through  the  Catholic,  up  to  the  semi-devel- 
oped Protestant  phase,  as  shown  in  the  material- 
istic art  of  England  and  Holland,  we  will  now 
glance  at  the  various  schools  of  the  present  cen- 
tury. 

In  all  ages  there  exist  true  men,  laboring,  in 
humble  sincerity  and  with  apostolic  forethought, 
to  sustain  and  illumine  art.  We  find  such  artists 
even  now  in  Italy,  and  perhaps  in  Spain,  coun*- 
tries  in  which  its  decay  is  the  more  conspicuous 
from  contrast  with  former  excellence,  and  its  re- 
vival the  more  difficult  from  the  general  stagna- 
tion of  thought  under  the  blighting  influence  of 


154    TRUTH  AND  FALSEHOOD  INTERMINGLE, 

but  half-strangled  ecclesiastical  despotisms.  Truth 
and  falsehood  so  intermmgle  that  it  is  only  at  a 
certain  distance  we  can  distinctly  distinguish  the 
lines  of  each.  With  individuals,  also,  art  equally 
varies  as  in  epochs,  its  condition  depending  upon 
the  varying  conditions  of  mind.  So,  in  speaking 
of  art-distinctions  of  various  nations,  times,  or 
persons,  we  mean  simply  to  state  the  prevailing 
feature  or  motive,  premising  that  in  all  particular 
degrees  of  excellence  are  to  be  found,  and  special 
indications  of  genius,  proving  that  no  age  is  with- 
out its  lights. 

The  spiritual  superiority  of  Catholic  art  has 
been  traced  to  its  claim,  from  the  outset,  to  rep- 
resent the  supernal  element  of  religion,  and  the 
loftiest  teachings  of  faith.  There  were,  it  is  true, 
in  the  mediaeval  democracies  of  Italy,  exceptions 
to  its  exclusive  religious  or  aristocratic  bias  ;  and, 
in  proportion  as  it  sprang  from  and  was  nurtured 
by  the  people,  it  prospered  and  grew  still  more 
lovely.  But  the  democratic  sentiment  of  that 
age  was  mainly  one  of  castes,  and  too  often  a 
promoter  of  anarchy  by  party  violence,  instead 
of  an  orderly  principle  of  civic  liberty.  Conse- 
quently, its  influence  was  unsteady.  With  the 
disciples  of  Savonarola  it  was  stringently  ascetic, 
and  tended  to  reaction  from  excess  in  the  direc- 
tion of  pietism.  Finally,  in  Italy,  art  was  de- 
based into  a  mere  courtier  and  state  lackey,  on  the 
one  hand,  and  on  the  other,  an  instrument  of 
church  pageantry  and  artifice.  Every  drop  of 
democratic  blood  was  drained  from  it.  Its  vices 
were  those  of  princes  ;  its  absurdities,  those  of 
priests. 


I  ENGLISH  SCHOOL.  155 

•  As  soon  as  Protestant  art  freed  itself  from  the 
control  of  rulers  sensual  and  papal  at  heart,  like 
the  English  Stuarts,  it  identified  itself  by  degrees 
with  the  people,  assuming  their  level  of  thought, 
and  their  liking  for  the  homely  and  common. 
Mark !  —  liking^  not  love,  in  England,  any 
more  than  in  America  ;  for  in  neither  country  does 
aesthetic  feeling  assume  the  dignity  of  a  passion. 
In  both.  Fashion  is  still  its  protecting  deity.  A 
few  minds  only  receive  it  as  a  conviction  or  sen- 
timent ;  perhaps  none  as  a  portion  of  the  true 
bread  of  life.  Yet  it  is  slowly  making  its  way 
to  the  heart  of  the  multitude,  by  bringing  into 
the  homes  of  the  people  that  which  is  intelligible, 
dear,  and  pleasurable  to  them,  without  any  need 
of  church  or  state  to  interpret  or  dictate.  Cathol- 
icism exalted  the  art-motive,  but  Protestantism 
gave  it  liberty. 

The  Dutch  school,  as  we  have  shown,  was  the 
base  of  the  democratic  revolution  of  art  growing 
out  of  Protestant  freedom.  England  also  caught 
up  the  new  life,  founding  her  art  upon  a  similar 
taste  for  genre  subjects,  —  e very-day  humanity, 
fat  pastures,  animal  life,  and  rural  scenery ;  the 
instincts  of  the  masses,  and  their  loyalty  and 
homage  to  aristocracy;  in  fine,  every  feature, 
good  or  bad,  which  makes  up  the  stolid,  insular 
Englishman.  Hogarth  is  their  first  great  master 
of  realism,  tempered  by  allegory  and  caricature. 
His  art  is  that  of  a  censor  or  moralist ;  but  he 
painted  actual  life  from  a  point  of  view  and  for 
an  elevated  purpose  that  makes  his  pictures  of 
value  to  all  time. 


156 


TURNER. 


England  may  be  said  to  have  developed  in  the 
present  century  two  distinct  styles  of  painting, 
each  serving  to  counteract  the  extremes  of  the 
other.  One  of  them  is  founded  upon  the  broad, 
naturalistic,  imaginative  treatment  of  nature  by 
Turner,  wherein  he  shows  how  thoroughly  and 
deeply  he  has  penetrated  into  her  spirit,  felt  her 
poetry,  understood  her  forms,  and  comprehended 
her  sesthetic  laws.  Turner  is  the  father  of  the 
modern  landscape  art  in  its  broadest  sense.  The 
old  men,  Claude,  Salvator  Rosa,  the  Poussins, 
the  Carracci  and  their  school,  all  pale  before  him. 
Titian  alone  resembles  him  in  the  strong  sweep 
of  his  brush  and  lofty  use  of  the  landscape  as  a 
whole,  in  subordination  to  the  higher  aims  of  his 
genius.  Turner  could  be  as  greatly  true  in  de- 
tails as  in  principals.  Capricious  he  was,  auda- 
cious, arbitrary,  and  eccentric,  but  also  intensely 
earnest,  diligent,  daring,  and  experimentive,  orig- 
inal ever,  studying  great  masters  to  rival  or  sub- 
due them,  the  world  of  nature  to  master  its 
distinctive  features  and  qualities,  and  then  fling- 
ing himself  upon  a  skeptical,  unsympathetic  pub- 
lic, a  strong,  new,  prolific,  omnific  artist,  who  sees 
and  paints  in  his  own  way,  founds  a  new  school, 
and  bequeaths  to  his  country  a  priceless  legacy 
of  landscape,  redeemed  from  the  conventional,  lit- 
tle, superficial,  and  unmeaning,  and  endowed  with 
a  living  soul.  Rare  Turner !  He  has  exalted 
forever  the  landscape  into  the  range  of  high  ideal- 
istic art. 

The  technical  strength  of  Turner  is  mainly 
shown  in  his  masterly  rendering  of  the  phenom- 


TURNER, 


157 


sua  or  emphatic  features  of  nature,  wonderful 
power  of  suggestiveness  of  forms  and  moods  and 
the  essential  differences  and  relations  of  things  by 
color.  His  canvases  speak,  have  souls;  pictures 
form  within  pictures ;  ideas  thrill  us ;  feelings  quick- 
en ;  and  figures  come  and  go  like  ghosts.  Not  only 
nature  reflects  humanity,  but  her  own  mysterious 
selfhood  is  seen  and  felt.  Color  flashes,  blazes, 
melts,  interblends,  riots,  and  slumbers,  at  his  magic 
touch,  with  alternated  magnificence,  repose,  or 
gloom.  He  recalls  to  us  the  everlasting  variety 
and  splendor  of  the  elements  themselves.  To 
heighten  the  eloquence  of  color  he  never  hesitates 
to  sacrifice  the  little  and  literal  in  design,  but  it  is 
always  done  in  the  intent  of  great  thought  or  sub- 
tile meaning.  The  power  to  perfect  is  manifested  ; 
the  idea  passes  from  him  to  us  ;  a  moment's  pause 
in  the  side-speech,  and  we  pass  on  to  the  great 
fact  he  interprets.  Receptive  of  the  beautiful, 
sublime,  and  mysterious  in  nature,  perceptive  of 
her  miraculous  variety  to  a  degree  no  other  artist 
has  equalled,  his  imagination  was  as  competent  to 
high  creative  art  as  his  knowledge  to  naturalistic 
truth.  In  audacity  of  original  thought,  splendid 
and  gorgeous  painting,  what  equals  Ulysses  derid- 
ing Polyphemus ;  for  terrible  imaginative  power, 
his  Dragon  of  the  Hesperides  ;  for  weird,  supernal 
invention,  the  Angel  standing  in  the  Sun;  for 
tender  sweetness  and  poetic  aspect  of  landscape, 
Crossing  the  Brook ;  for  sublime  pathos.  Old 
Temeraire ;  and  for  poetic  feeling,  the  Burial  of 
Wilkie  ?  Once  beginning  to  point  out  the  versa- 
tility of  Turner's  genius,  we  know  not  where  to 


158 


FRITH. 


pause.  He  has  established  his  fame  in  the  Eng- 
lish school  as  its  great  master,  as  Titian  stands 
in  that  of  Venice ;  each  reversing  the  prominent 
art-motive  of  the  other,  but  with  much  that  is  char- 
acteristic in  an  aesthetic  view  in  common.  Titian 
centred  the  delicacy  and  splendor  of  his  brush  on 
the  human  figure,  Turner  on  the  landscape  :  the 
accessory  of  the  one  artist  being  the  principal  of 
the  other. 

In  assigning  so  high  a  rank  to  Turner  we  are 
not  unmindful  of  what  Reynolds,  Gainsborough, 
Wilson,  and  their  contemporaries  have  done  to 
dignify  the  English  school  of  painting.  They 
are  idealists  in  color,  and  imbued  with  true  senti- 
ment. None  of  these,  however,  were  great  orig- 
inal men,  creating  an  era.  They  painted  well, 
formed  individual  styles  of  much  merit  and  beauty, 
elevated  the  tone  of  English  art,  but  based  their 
ideas  and  knowledge  on  existing  schools  or  pre- 
vious example. 

A  vigorous,  unideal,  thoroughly  British  class  of 
painters  succeeded  them,  insular  in  type  and  tone, 
inferior  in  color,  realistic  in  expression,  naturalis- 
tic in  aim,  low,  common,  external  in  motive,  aca- 
demic in  training,  intelligible  and  popular  because 
of  the  delight  of  the  nation  at  large  in  their  topics 
and  materialistic  treatment.  Men  of  talent,  cer- 
tainly, and  of  local  fame  ;  but  not  of  genius  and  uni- 
versal reputation.  Frith's  Derby  Day,  embody- 
ing the  lower  traits  of  English  national  life,  and 
his  Railway  Station,  the  external  commonplace 
of  that  confused  spectacle,  are  graphic  results  of 
the  style  and  taste  of  English  reahsts.    In  oppo- 


BLAKE. 


159 


sition  to  similar  notions  of  art,  and  as  a  counter- 
acting power  to  their  externalisnij  we  find  "  mad 
Blake,"  as  his  contemporaries  called  him,  but  who 
is  now  more  justly  viewed  as  one  of  the  great 
lights  and  warnings  of  the  school.  He  essayed  to 
lift  it  out  of  the  commonplace  and  material  into 
the  sublime,  spiritual,  and  supernal,  giving,  as 
with  a  clairvoyant  sense,  hints  of  the  life  not  of 
the  earth  ;  a  solemn,  original  thinker,  powerful  and 
inventive  in  design,  in  idea  transcendent,  "  mad  " 
only  because  in  soaring  so  high  he  went  far  above 
the  range  of  his  brethren.  Blake's  inspiration  is 
Miltonic ;  like  the  poet,  he  creates,  but  also,  like 
Ezekiel,  sees  visions.  He  paints  or  draws  the 
Almighty  with  the  same  reverent  freedom  as  Ti- 
tian the  human  figure.  Hierarchies,  thrones,  an- 
gels, and  satans,  the  powers  and  dominions  of  light 
and  darkness,  were  as  familiar  to  his  imagination 
as  were  the  voluptuous  beauties  of  the  court  of 
Charles  H.  to  the  sensual  eyes  of  Sir  Peter 
Lely.  They  are  real,  palpable,  visible.  He 
gazes  into  the  unseen  infinite  with  the  mingled 
glances  of  artist  and  seer,  not  hesitating  to  paint 
portraits  of  the  olden  dead.  Men  of  quality,  who 
once  strutted  and  vexed  awhile  the  earth,  reveal 
their  ghastly  lineaments  to  his  interpenetrative 
look.  He  draws  for  us  efiigies  of  the  Builder  of 
the  great  Pyramid,  Richard  Coeur  de  Leon,  and 
others,  whose  mortal  integuments  have  long  ago 
rejoined  their  mother-dust.  But  in  this  visionary 
art  he  suggests  more  than  he  realizes ;  so  that, 
fully  to  understand  it,  or  enter  into  its  spirit,  we 
must  draw  largely  on  the  mysticism  of  our  own 
imaginations. 


160 


PRE-RAPIIAELITISM. 


Nevertheless,  Blake  stands  forth  in  the  prosaic 
English  school,  grand  and  lovely  in  his  solitude ; 
its  John  the  Baptist,  preaching  in  a  wilderness, 
without  the  multitudes  that  flocked  to  the  prophet 
to  hear  the  truth,  but  none  the  less  an  inspiration 
to  those  who  believe  in  the  highest  destinies  of 
art.  We  quote  Frith  and  Blake,  the  opposite 
poles  of  English  painting,  to  show  its  wide  range 
of  idea.  Although  Turner  creates  a  school,  like 
Michel  Angelo,  he  is  intrinsically  of  too  great  an 
artistic  calibre  to  have  successful  disciples.  Imi- 
tators and  pupils  abound,  but  his  mantle  is  not 
to  be  worn  on  narrow  shoulders.  Indeed,  view- 
ing him  as  the  standard,  landscape  art  has  not  ad- 
vanced since  his  death.  It  is  easier  to  parody  his 
exaggerations  or  denounce  his  experiments  than 
to  demonstrate  equal  power  and  intuition.  Even 
his  imperfect  experimentive  work,  scraps  and  stud- 
ies, assert  the  depth  and  abundance  of  his  reserved 
power,  and  the  quality  of  his  ambition.  They 
are  like  the  fragments  thrown  off  the  sculpture 
of  Titans.  Smaller  minds  may  profit  much  by 
studying  him ;  but  to  attempt  to  rival  him  in  his 
own  manner  would  be  to  waste  ability  and  pro- 
duce inchoate,  wild  work.  The  legitimate  chan- 
nels of  study  are  the  proper  schools  for  them. 
They  are  to  be  found  in  that  newly  arisen,  ear- 
nest, laborious  class  of  English  artists,  which  on  ac- 
count of  the  sincere  spirit  which  animates  it,  rather 
than  from  any  very  obvious  points  of  technical 
similarity,  has  come  to  be  called  the  Pre-Raphael- 
ite, after  the  predecessors  of  Raphael,  unmindful 
of  the  fact  that  the  system  of  finish  of  detail  in 


PRE-RAPHAELITISM. 


161 


accordance  with  the  externalism  of  nature  is  as 
old  as  the  early  painters  of  Greece,  and  has  never 
been  peculiar  to  any  time  or  people.  The  name, 
however,  is  used  to  cover  up  so  much  dry  medi- 
ocrity, and  barren  imitation  of  the  natural  and 
common  by  a  class  of  painters  whom  the  Greeks 
in  the  scorn  of  their  idealism  would  have  called 
mere  dirt-painters,  that  it  ought  to  be  redeemed 
from  its  ambiguousness  to  that  definition,  which, 
in  justice  to  the  really  able  men  who  adopt  it,  it 
should  alone  bear. 

We  understand  its  underlying  principle  to  be 
that  which  infused  vitality  into  classical  art  and 
made  the  mediaeval  so  true  and  high-toned.  The 
inner  life,  or  idea,  is  its  profoundest  recognition. 
This  it  seeks  to  incarnate  with  scrupulous  techni- 
cal skill  into  appropriate  forms,  giving  to  each  its 
due.  It  is  pure,  wise,  and  true  in  aim.  Instructed 
by  nature,  it  seeks  to  combine  science  with  feeling 
and  wisdom.  Universal  in  range,  it  is  both  hum- 
ble and  exalted  in  tone.  Recognizing  the  divine 
in  the  material,  uniting  form  and  idea  into  a  har- 
monious whole,  truthful  that  it  may  be  beautiful, 
simple  yet  erudite,  natural  yet  dignified,  inquiring 
yet  believing,  prone  to  prove  all  things,  disowning 
conventionalism  and  the  bondage  of  societies  yet 
faithful  to  fact,  elaborate,  a  hard  worker  and  pa- 
tient student,  surcharged  with  enthusiasm  for  the 
faith  that  sustams  it,  a  regenerating  power  in  art : 
such  is  our  conception  of  the  real  intent  and  mean- 
ing of  Pre-Raphaelitism. 

This  precious  germ  in  little  hands  degenerates, 
as  we  too  often  see,  into  trite  pettiness  and  weari- 
11 


162 


PRE-RAPHAELITISM. 


some  literalness,  from  a  tendency  to  subordinate 
great  laws  to  lesser,  and  to  exalt  the  common  and 
integumental  above  the  intellectual  and  spiritual. 
They  also  forget  that  nature,  their  teacher,  inva- 
riably in  the  landscape  hints  at  more  than  she  dis- 
closes, leaving  in  the  mystery  of  her  forms  in 
masses  a  delightful  scope  of  suggestiveness  to  the 
natural  eye,  which  is  to  it  as  is  hope  to  the  relig- 
ious faculties,  or  as  is  imagination  to  the  intellect, 
an  angel  of  promise  to  draw  one  onward  in  pur- 
suit of  the  ideal.  The  painter,  Hke  the  moralist, 
should  accept  the  spiritual  law  that  the  naked 
fact  is  not  always  to  be  given  in  its  absolute  ex- 
actness of  matter ;  otherwise  it  would  obscure  or 
detract  from  more  important  facts,  and  arrest  at- 
tention as  it  were  on  the  threshold  of  the  temple 
of  art.  Neither  memory  nor  sight  can  cope  with 
the  infinite  and  ever-changing  panorama  of  life.  At 
the  best,  at  any  one  time,  we  get  only  a  partial  view. 
The  unseen  and  undetected  must  in  any  stage  of 
progress  outnumber  the  seen  and  known.  Nature 
is  not  to  be  exliausted  by  the  utmost  diligence  of 
exploration  ;  nor  can  we  hope  by  the  finite  to  ren- 
der her  infinite.  The  higher  law  of  art  is  inter- 
pretation ;  imitation  is  secondary.  Those  artists 
who  exalt  the  latter  above  the  former  of  necessity 
fail,  because  life  or  spirit  is  something  more  than 
color  and  form.  These  are  the  mediums  only,  as 
words  are,  of  ideas  and  feelings,  and  if  made  para- 
mount, represent  death  or  inanimation  rather  than 
life.  That  for  which  they  were  created  being 
withheld  from  them,  they  may  exhibit  labor,  skill, 
and  marvellous  memory  and  dexterity,  but  ajQTord 


PRE-RAPHAELITISM, 


163 


no  clue  to  the  soul  of  things.  So  far,  therefore,  as 
Pre-Eaphaelitism  robs  art  of  her  poetry  in  order 
to  give  the  literal  facts  of  nature,  it  may  subserve 
exact  science  by  way  of  illustration,  but  it  sub- 
verts noble  art.  And,  then,  nature  will  not  dis- 
close herself  with  microscopic  realism  to  the  naked 
eye.  We  do  not  see  things  as  the  majority  of 
self-styled  Pre-Raphaelites  put  them  in  their  work. 
Any  training  that  would  make  us  so  see  nature 
would  exchange  half  of  its  beauteous  mystery  as 
a  whole,  with  its  proper  emphases  of  parts  and  its 
lovely  gradation  of  distances,  for  a  photographic, 
unideaHstic  rendition  of  the  forms,  hues,  and  ap- 
pearances of  things  great  and  small  on  one  mo- 
notonous standard  of  mechanical  exactness.  The 
average  men  of  the  Pre-Raphaelites  also,  to  a 
great  degree,  lose  their  own  individuality  or  con- 
sciousness in  their  zeal  for  rigid  representation, 
and  in  this  are  the  opposite  of  Turner,  who 
largely  endowed  his  works  with  his  own  life. 
But  Pre-Raphaehtism  in  the  keeping  of  genius, 
uniting  Turnerian  breadth  and  freedom  to  its  le- 
gitimate spirituality  of  vision  and  scientific  accu- 
racy, offers  a  possibility  of  progress  as  exhaustless 
as  the  pure  principles  and  noble  aspirations  which 
are  or  should  be  the  basis  of  its  theory  of  paint- 
ing. We  estimate  it  not  so  much  by  what  it  has 
accomplished,  even  in  the  hands  of  Millais,  Hunt, 
or  Dante  Rossetti,  as  by  what  it  professes  to  be. 
For  although  emancipated  from  the  bondage  of 
effete  ideas  and  paralyzing  formalism,  and  having 
already  won  brilliant  distinction,  it  still  has  much 
to  acquire  in  the  science  and  methods  of  painting, 


164  DUSSELDORF  SCHOOL. 


something  yet  to  learn  of  the  logic  and  rhetoric 
of  art,  whose  rules  as  a  complete,  harmonious 
whole  do  not  seem  to  be  fully  observed.  But, 
born  of  the  resurrection  of  aesthetic  feeling  and 
of  the  knowledge  of  our  own  time,  cradled  in 
freedom  of  thought  and  execution,  nursed  by 
faithful  study,  the  art-child  of  Protestant  liberty 
of  progress,  Pre-Raphaelitism  indicates  a  solid 
foundation  for  a  fresh  and  vigorous  school  of 
painting. 

Germany  affords  examples  of  laborious  study 
and  clever  manual  results.  Her  schools  in  gen- 
eral, of  the  Dryasdust  order,  are  the  ballast  of 
modern  art,  keeping  it  from  premature  flights,  or 
being  too  much  swayed  by  imagination  and  im- 
pulse. They  serve,  therefore,  as  the  conservative 
element  of  art,  advancing  heavily  through  steady 
application,  producing  respectable  pictures,  chiefly 
of  the  furniture  or  decorative  style,  without  much 
evidence  of  lofty  intellectual  inspiration  or  creative 
genius. 

The  most  popular  of  these  schools  is  the  Dus- 
seldorf :  in  its  best  men,  of  whom  Achenbacli 
and  Lessing  are  favorable  examples,  dramatic,  ar- 
tistic, and  graphic ;  in  its  little  men,  formal,  pedan- 
tic, and  artificial.  Versed  in  art-trickery,  spec- 
tacular, it  gives  everything  to  the  eye,  nothing  to 
the  mind  or  heart.  America  is  inundated  with  its 
works,  which  are  useful  so  far  as  they  help  edu- 
cate our  people  in  the  rudiments  of  design  and 
composition ;  but  in  other  respects  the  Dusseldorf 
school  is  a  millstone  about  our  necks. 

But  Germany  is  not  wholly  given  over  to  the 


CORNELIUS  AND  OVERBECK.  165 

mechanical  and  decorative  in  painting.  It  pos- 
sesses idealism  of  a  high  order.  The  chief  pro- 
test against  its  externalism  comes  from  the  school 
of  Cornelius  and  Overbeck.  This  is  correct  in 
principle,  lofty  in  purpose,  and  great  in  intellectual 
motive ;  but  in  execution  incorrect  so  far  as  it  seeks 
to  revive  or  imitate  mediaeval  work.  Although 
more  spiritual  in  aim  and  religious  in  expression 
than  English  Pre-Raphaelitism,  it  lacks  the 
healthful  freedom  and  versatility  of  the  latter. 
The  Past  clings  heavily  to  its  garments,  and 
weighs  it  down.  It  is  the  fourteenth  century 
trying  to  sway  or  push  aside  the  nineteenth. 
The  ascetic  Umbrians  are  not  at  ease  in  our 
atmosphere. 

Belgian  art  is  too  much  a  cross  between  Ger- 
man and  French  to  call  for  a  special  analysis. 
Personally,  we  delight  in  Leys,  its  great  Pre- 
Raphaelite,  a  lineal  successor  of  the  Van  Eycks, 
to  their  spirit  and  style  adding  the  advantages  of 
modern  science.  He  paints  ideas  as  well  as  forms, 
with  an  individuality  of  expression,  though  some- 
what uniform  in  type,  a  vigorous,  deep-toned, 
admirably  subdued,  and  harmonious  coloring,  and 
a  picturesqueness  of  composition, ,  which  distin- 
guish him  as  a  great  modern  master,  deeply  im- 
bued with  the  sincerity  and  earnestness  of  the 
old  men,  and  ambitious  to  rival  their  solid  and 
faithful  painting. 

France  bears  the  palm  to-day  in  modern  art. 
In  painting  she  presents  a  wider  range  of  styles 
and  motives,  a  greater  knowledge,  and  more 
eminent  names  than  any  other  country.  This 


166 


FRENCH  SCHOOL, 


she  owes  to  her  artistic  and  scientific  liberty, 
intellectual  culture,  the  national  love  of  beauty^ 
and  widely  diffused  aesthetic  taste,  helped  as  they 
are  by  admirable  systems  of  instruction,  accumu- 
lations of  objects  of  art  of  all  eras  and  races 
free  to  her  people,  while  her  own  traditions  cre- 
ate a  universal  art-atmosphere,  and  make  every 
Frenchman  a  lover  and  critic  of  art ;  and,  above 
all,  to  the  subordination  of  the  ecclesiastical  to 
civil  authority.  The  French  are  the  Greeks  of 
modern  life.  Leavened  with  the  Protestant  spirit 
of  civil  liberty  and  progression,  they  unite  in  them- 
selves the  extreme  of  philosophical  skepticism  with 
the  spiritual  exaltation  and  material  superstition 
of  Catholicism.  Amid  such  elements,  art  exhib- 
its every  aspect,  from  a  refined,  ecstatic,  symboli- 
cal, or  naturalistic  Pre-Eaphaelitism,  to  a  sensu- 
alism delighting  in  lust  and  horror,  a  vanity  that 
is  ridiculous  and  deteriorating,  and  a  flimsiness 
and  exaggeration  that  defy  every  rule  of  good 
taste. 

Great  lights,  however,  shine  throughout  this 
medley,  gradually  extending  correct  ideas,  and 
educating  the  public  to  a  purer  standard  of  aes- 
thetic judgment.  A  few  names  out  of  the  many 
that  now  so  rapidly  rise  and  succeed  one  another 
in  the  rivalry  of  progress,  vidll  suffice  to  illustrate 
the  varied  brilHancy,  excellence,  and  wide  reach 
of  French  painting.  Their  sculpture  is  too 
common  in  inspiration,  low  in  aspiration,  and 
indifferent  in  execution,  to  require  us  to  break 
silence  in  its  behalf  in  this  connection. 

The  best  painters  of  France  in  their  motives 


CALAME, 


167 


and  styles  include  the  elements  of  the  classical, 
mediseval,  Renaissant,  and  modem  schools,  devoid 
of  servile  imitation  and  inane  reproduction.  They 
develop  a  large  degree  of  individualism  in  inven- 
tion and  manner,  based  upon  keen  aesthetic  sus- 
ceptibility, great  executive  skill,  and  well-digested 
knowledge.  These  virtues  are,  however,  mainly 
of  recent  growth.  The  academic  pseudo-classi- 
calism,  disgusting  materialism,  and  empty  senti- 
mentalism  of  the  Empire,  equally  with  the  phari- 
saic  religionism,  wanton  prettinesses,  lying  Arca- 
diaism,  mean  pride,  and  aristocratic  folly  of  the 
previous  Bourbon  phase  of  art,  have  given  place 
to  a  more  wholesome  taste  and  truer  appreciation 
of  aesthetic  aims,  far  from  perfect,  but  in  contrast 
with  preceding  art  as  is  the  invigorating  break  of 
day  to  smoke  of  the  bottomless  pit. 

Although  Calame  is  Swiss,  he  comes  within 
the  pale  of  the  French  school,  and  we  quote  him 
as  illustrating  more  through  design  than  color, 
which  is  positive  and  cold,  those  qualities  of  the 
landscape  that  give  it  a  deep,  poetical  signifi- 
cance, almost  pantheistic  in  sentiment,  but  truth- 
ful in  forms.  He  recreates  in  forest,  field,  or 
flood,  the  same  tone  of  mind  which  led  the  Greek 
artist  to  impersonify  nature.  In  Calame  it  is 
deep,  solemn,  mystical,  a  brooding  of  the  super- 
natural, begetting  awe  and  silence,  as  of  a  terrible 
expectation. 

Rosa  Bonheur  and  Troyon  are  to  be  thanked 
for  leading  their  art  out  of  mock  pastoralism  and 
classical  puerilities  into  a  healthful  love  of  agri- 
culture and  animals.    Lambinet,  Auguste  Bon- 


168  FRME.  MEISSONNIER. 


heur,  and  Rousseau  are  working  in  a  similar 
spirit  in  behalf  of  the  much-abused  and  long-suf- 
fering landscape,  aiming  at  truth  of  color  and 
generalization.  Frere  consecrates  his  captivating 
brush  to  domestic  life.  With  a  subtile,  tender  in- 
stinct, he  brings  out  of  the  common  and  humble 
the  delicate,  pathetic,  and  natural,  elevating  hu- 
manity in  the  masses,  and  showing  how  much 
above  the  atmosphere  of  fashion  are  the  emotions 
and  actions  of  genuine  manhood,  womanhood,  and 
childhood,  and  what  there  is  of  real  poetry  in  low- 
ly life.  His  is  the  true  democracy  of  the  heart. 
Merle  is  equally  true  and  tender. 

Millet  favorably  represents  the  Pre-Raphaelit- 
ism  of  his  country,  which  is  superior  in  its  scientific 
execution  and  has  more  breadth  of  idea  and  man- 
ner than  the  English,  as  we  see  in  the  realistic 
Gerome,  particularly  in  the  subordmation  of  infe- 
rior parts  and  lesser  motives  to  the  principal,  and 
a  more  correct  understanding  of  the  philosophy 
of  art.  Haman,  after  another  style,  is  classical  in 
feeling,  with  a  delicious  delicacy  of  sentiment  and 
play  of  fancy.  Meissonnier  is  the  painter  of  the 
salons.  Fashion  is  his  stimulus.  His  vigorous 
design,  tasteful  composition,  exquisite  finish,  mi- 
nuteness without  littleness,  manual  skill,  his  force 
and  spirit,  despite  the  inferiority  of  his  motives 
and  want  of  sympathy  for  noble  work,  almost 
elevate  him  to  the  level  of  a  great  master.  In- 
deed, in  so  far  as  doing  what  he  attempts  super- 
latively well,  he  is  one.  Couture  develops  alto- 
gether another  style  of  painting.  He  is  among 
the  foremost  in  skill  and  science,  not  a  great 


DELAROCHE. 


169 


creative  mind,  but  one  of  striking  talents  and  pro- 
found knowledge,  to  which  are  superadded  orig- 
inal conception  and  individual  force.  The  Ko- 
mains  de  la  Decadence  is  his  masterpiece. 

Horace  Vernet's  mastery  of  pencil  is  chiefly  di- 
rected to  illustration  and  history.  His  hand  is 
ready  and  quick,  full  of  dash  and  spirit,  most 
clever  in  those  realistic  qualities  which  captivate 
the  multitude.  He  has  an  indifferent  feeling  for 
color,  finds  no  sentiment  in  it.  Scenic  and  sen- 
sational, he  is  not  a  great  master,  although  pass- 
ing for  one.  Delaroche  surpasses  him  in  imagi- 
nation, feeling  for  color,  lofty  motives,  and  graceful 
conceptions.  He  is  also  a  painter  of  history,  but 
his  naturalism  is  tempered  with  idealism.  Vernet 
is  the  artist  of  the  field  and  camp,  Delaroche  of 
the  academy  and  studio  ;  the  one  observes,  the 
other  studies.  Delaroche  appeals  to  ideas  and 
sympathies,  and  has  a  lofty  intellectual  estimate 
of  art.  Yernet  carries  away  the  spectator  by  the 
vigor  of  his  action  and  dramatic  effect. 

Daring,  original,  powerful  men.  Decamps  and 
M.  Robert  Fleury  display  subtile  thought  and 
feeling.  In  their  specialities  they  are  artists  of 
the  first  order.  Of  opposite  tendencies,  cold  and 
weak  in  color,  but  pure  in  sentiment,  poetical  in 
conception,  and  spiritual  in  feeling,  is  Ary  Schef- 
fer,  who  represents  the  French  progress  in  this 
direction.  Dore  in  design  is  master  of  the  terrific, 
grotesque,  and  diabolic.  As  a  poet  of  Dantesque 
power  of  imagery,  profundity,  and  inventive  in- 
sight, he  presents  the  shadow  side  of  the  imagi- 
nation, peopling  the  earth  and  air  with  wondrous 


170 


DELACROIX. 


frightful  creations,  solemn  and  mystic  in  tone  and 
of  unlimited  force  and  variety. 

Delacroix  closes  this  reference  to  the  breadth, 
variety,  and  range  of  French  painting.  He  is 
grand,  fearless,  powerful,  and  profoundly  imbued 
v^ith  the  sentiment  of  color,  an  enthusiast  in  art, 
sombre  in  temperament,  a  master  of  the  tragic, 
founding  his  power  on  those  sympathies  and  con- 
victions that  stir  the  impressible  spectator  most 
deeply  and  lift  him  most  mightily.  His  is  an  art 
that  ennobles  and  dignifies  human  nature.  It  is 
not  faultless,  for  positive  criticism  would  find 
much  in  him  to  cavil  at.  His  vigor  of  experi- 
ment and  power  of  invention  may  appall  the  timid 
conventionalist.  But  above  all  his  shortcomings 
—  short  only  through  the  inability  of  hand  to 
match  the  will  —  rises  up  the  imagination  of  a 
great  genius,  overmastering  him  and  his  age,  as 
Michel  Angelo's  overmastered  himself  and  his. 


CHAPTER  Xin. 


An  Inquiry  into  the  Art-Conditions  and  Prospects  of  Ameri- 
ca.—  Art-Criticism.  —  Press,  People,  and  Clergy.  —  Needs 
of  Artists  and  Public.  —  American  Knownothingism  in  Art. 
—  Eclecticism.  —  The  True  Path. 

ppE  have  now  succinctly  traced  the  art-idea 
W\  in  its  historical  progress  and  aesthetic  de- 
^  velopment  in  the  civilizations  of  the  Old 
World  to  the  period  of  its  advent  in  the  New,  show- 
ing, as  we  proceeded,  that,  though  the  love  of  beau- 
ty is  a  fundamental  quality  of  the  human  mind, 
yet  its  manifestations  in  the  form  of  art  are  checked, 
stimulated,  or  modified  by  the  influences  of  climate, 
habits,  and  traditions  of  race,  relative  pressure  of 
utilitarian  or  aesthetic  ideas,  the  character  of  creeds 
and  tone  of  religious  feeling,  and  above  all  by  the 
opposite  degrees  of  freedom  of  choice  and  qualities 
of  inspiration  permitted  to  the  artist  by  Pagan, 
Papal,  and  Protestant  governments. 

American  soil,  but  half  rescued  from  the  wild 
embrace  of  the  wilderness,  is  a  virgin  field  of  art. 
By  America  we  mean  that  agglomerate  of  Euro- 
pean civilizations  welded  by  Anglo-Saxon  institu- 
tions into  the  Federal  Union.  The  other  portions 
of  the  continent  are  simply  offshoots  of  their  par- 
ent countries,  without  national  life  in  art  or  lit- 


172 


AN  INQUIRY. 


erature.  Consequently,  our  inquiries  belong  to 
that  people  which,  in  virtue  of  their  power  and 
progress,  have  taken  to  themselves  the  designa- 
tion of  Americans,  sanctioned  by  the  tacit  con- 
sent of  the  world,  prophetically  foreshadowing  a 
period  in  their  destiny,  when,  by  the  noble  con- 
quest of  ideas,  the  entire  continent  shall  of  right 
be  theirs. 

An  inquiry  of  this  nature,  under  the  circum- 
stances of  newness  and  inexperience  which  every- 
where present  themselves,  is,  in  many  respects, 
embarrassing.  At  the  same  time,  it  is  interesting, 
involving  as  it  does  not  only  the  previous  points 
of  our  investigations,  whether  by  inheritance, 
transmission,  or  imitation,  but  new  forms,  rooted 
in  novel  conditions  of  national  being ;  in  short,  the 
future  of  the  art  of  the  interminghng  races  of  a 
new  world,  fused  into  a  democracy  which  is  now 
passing  through  its  gravest  struggle  for  existence, 
to  reissue,  as  we  believe,  the  most  powerful  be- 
cause the  most  enlightened,  the  most  peaceful 
because  the  most  free,  and  the  most  influential 
people  of  the  globe,  because  having  sacrificed  the 
most  for  justice  and  liberty. 

But  the  dark  cloud  of  civil  strife  still  lowers 
over  us.  The  timid  quake  ;  skeptics  jeer.  We 
have  scarcely  begun  to  sow  the  fields  of  art.  The 
critic  has  more  difiiculties  in  his  way  than  even 
the  artist.  A  harvest  is  to  be  reaped,  however, 
and  that  sooner  than  many  think.  Let  us  care- 
fully sift  the  seed  as  it  is  sown,  and  not  wait  until 
the  tares  are  big  and  strong  before  trying  to  up- 
root them.    A  bright  vision  of  national  growth  in 


MORE  LIGHT. 


173 


art  does  indeed  come  before  our  mental  sight,  but 
that  must  not  tempt  us  to  overlook  the  fallow  Now. 
He  who  would  hasten  the  realization  of  that  vis- 
ion is  under  bonds  to  apply  to  the  art  of  to-day 
those  strict  rules  by  which  alone  it  may  be  sped 
joyfully  on  its  way.  It  is  a  duty  to  vindicate  art, 
not  to  foster  national  conceit,  stimulate  personal 
vanity,  or  pander  to  individual  interests.  "  More 
Light,''  says  Goethe;  "More  Light."  Pre- 
cisely our  public  and  private  want !  Those  read- 
ers who  have  kept  us  company  thus  far,  know 
that  the  aesthetic  taste  advocated  is  based  upon 
pure  examples  ;  and  that  the  principles  which  un- 
derlie it  are  drawn  from  deep  and  lofty  aspirations, 
so  far  as  long  and  conscientious  study  has  enabled 
us  to  detect  them.  Believing,  therefore,  that  the 
BEST  is  none  too  good  for  America  to  aspire  to,  we 
shall  speak  plainly  of  our  deficiencies,  and  cheer- 
ingly  of  whatever  justifies  hope  or  praise.  And  the 
more  emphatically  at  this  particular  juncture  of 
our  national  affairs,  because  the  experience  of  the 
world  shows  that  great  artists  and  a  corresponding 
advance  in  art  are  almost  always  contemporane- 
ous with  the  cessation  of  great  wars  and  decisive 
crises  in  historical  periods. 

For  the  present,  America,  like  England,  prefers 
the  knowledge  w^hich  makes  her  rich  and  strong, 
to  the  art  that  implied  cultivation  as  well  as  feel- 
ing rightly  to  enjoy  it.  In  either  country,  cli- 
mate, race,  and  religion  are  adverse,  as  compared 
with  Southern  lands,  to  its  spontaneous  and  gen- 
eral growth.  Americans  calculate,  interrogate, 
accumulate,  debate.    They  yet  find  their  chief 


i74 


FRANKLIN. 


success  in  getting,  rather  than  enjoying ;  in  hav- 
ing, rather  than  being:  hence,  material  wealth  is 
the  great  prize  of  life.  Their  character  tends  to 
thrift,  comfort,  and  means,  rather  than  final  aims. 
It  clings  earthward,  from  faith  in  the  substantial 
advantages  of  things  of  sense.  We  are  laying 
up  a  capital  for  great  achievements  by  and  by. 
Our  world  is  still  of  the  flesh,  with  bounteous 
loyalty  to  the  devil.  Eeligion,  on  the  side  either 
of  heaven  or  hell,  has  but  little  of  the  fervid, 
poetical,  affectionate  sentiment  of  the  Roman 
creed  and  ritual.  In  divorcing  it  from  the  su- 
persensuous  and  superstitious.  Protestantism  has 
gone  to  the  other  extreme,  making  it  too  much  a 
dogma.  Franklin  most  rules  the  common  mind. 
He  was  eminently  great  and  wise.  But  his  great- 
ness and  wisdom  was  unspiritual,  exhibiting  the 
advantages  that  spring  from  intellectual  foresight 
and  homely  virtue  ;  in  short,  the  practical  craft  of 
the  scientist,  politician,  and  merchant.  His  max- 
ims have  fallen  upon  understandings  but  too  well 
disposed  by  will  and  temperament  to  go  beyond  his 
meaning,  so  that  we  need  the  counteracting  ele- 
ment which  is  to  be  found  in  the  art-sentiment. 

What  progress  has  it  made  in  America  ? 

To  get  at  this  there  are  three  points  of  view : 
the  individual,  national,  and  universal.  American 
art  must  be  submitted  to  each,  to  get  a  correct 
idea  of  it  as  a  whole.  Yet  it  can  scarcely  be  said 
to  have  fairly  begun  its  existence,  because,  in  ad- 
dition to  the  disadvantages  art  is  subjected  to  in 
America  in  common  with  England,  it  has  others 
more  distinctively  its  own. 


WHAT  ART  LACKS. 


175 


The  popular  faith  is  more  rigidly  puritanical  in 
tone.  This  not  only  deprives  art  of  the  lofty 
stimulus  of  religious  feeling,  but  subjects  it  to 
suspicion,  as  of  doubtful  morality. 

Art  also  is  choked  by  the  stern  cares  and 
homely  necessities  of  an  incipient  civilization. 
Men  must  work  to  live,  before  they  can  live  to 
enjoy  the  beautiful. 

It  has  no  antecedent  art :  no  abbeys  in  pictu- 
resque ruins ;  no  stately  cathedrals,  the  legacies 
of  another  faith  and  generation ;  no  mediaeval  ar- 
chitecture, rich  in  crimson  and  gold,  eloquent  with 
sculpture  and  color,  and  venerable  with  age ;  no 
aristocratic  mansions,  in  which  art  enshrines  it- 
self in  a  selfish  and  unappreciating  era,  to  come 
forth  to  the  people  in  more  auspicious  times ;  no 
state  collections  to  guide  a  growing  taste ;  no 
caste  of  persons  of  whom  fashion  demands  en- 
couragement to  art-growth ;  no  ancestral  homes, 
replete  with  a  storied  portraiture  of  the  past ;  no 
legendary  lore  more  dignified  than  forest  or  sav- 
age life  ;  no  history  more  poetical  or  fabulous 
than  the  deeds  of  men  almost  of  our  own  gen- 
eration, too  like  ourselves  in  virtues  and  vices  to 
seem  heroic,  —  men  noble,  good,  and  wise,  but  not 
yet  arrived  to  be  gods ;  and,  the  greatest  loss  of 
all,  no  lofty  and  sublime  poetry. 

Involuntarily,  the  European  public  is  trained 
to  love  and  know  art.  The  most  stolid  brain 
cannot  wholly  evade  or  be  insensible  to  the  sub- 
tile influences  of  so  many  means  constantly  about 
it  calculated  to  attract  the  senses  into  sympathy 
with  the  Beautiful.    The  eye  of  the  laborer  is 


176 


WHAT  ART  LACKS, 


trained  and  his  understanding  enlightened  as  he 
goes  to  and  fro  the  streets  to  his  daily  labor ;  so, 
too,  the  perceptions  and  sentiments  of  the  idle  and 
fashionable  throng  in  their  pursuit  of  pleasure. 
A  vast  school  of  art  equally  surrounds  the  stu- 
dent and  non-student.  None  can  remain  entirely 
unconscious  of  its  presence,  any  more  than  of  the 
invigorating  sensations  of  fine  weather.  Hence 
the  individual  aptness  of  Italians,  Germans,  and 
Frenchmen  to  appreciate  and  pronounce  upon  art, 
independent  of  the  press  and  academic  axioms, 
thus  creating  for  their  artists  an  outside  school, 
which  perhaps  is  of  more  real  benefit  to  them 
than  the  one  within  doors  in  which  they  acquired 
their  elementary  knowledge  and  skill.  Of  these 
incentives  to  art-progress  America  is  still  desti- 
tute. 

To  this  loss  of  what  may  be  termed  a  floating 
aesthetic  capital  must  be  added  the  almost  equal 
destitution  of  institutions  for  instruction  in  the 
science  of  art,  except  in  a  crude  and  elementary 
way.  Academies  and  schools  of  design  are  few, 
and  but  imperfectly  established.  Public  galleries 
exist  only  in  idea.  Private  collections  are  lim- 
ited in  range,  destitute  of  masterpieces,  inacces- 
sible to  the  multitude.  Studios  would  effect 
much  for  the  development  of  taste  and  knowl- 
edge, were  they  freely  visited,  by  bringing  our 
public  into  more  cordial  relations  with  artists, 
who  do  not  yet  exercise  their  legitimate  influ- 
ence. In  a  nation  of  lyceums  and  lecturers, 
every  topic  except  art  is  heard.  Indeed,  outside 
of  occasional  didactic  teaching  and  a  few  works 


FALSE  CRITICISM, 


111 


not  much  read,  we  are  without  other  resources  of 
aesthetic  education  on  a  public  scale  than  meagre 
exhibitions  of  pictures  on  private  speculation  in 
some  of  the  chief  cities. 

This  leads  us  to  enlarge  on  the  special  disad- 
vantages to  American  art  arising  from  false  criti- 
cism. The  ordinary  productions  of  men  who 
handle  brush  or  chisel  are  spoken  of  in  public 
prints  as  "  works  of  consummate  taste  and  abil- 
ity/' "  perfect  gems,"  proofs  of  "  astonishing  gen- 
ius," and  with  similar  puffery.  These  vague, 
swelling  words  would  be  received  at  their  real 
value,  did  not  so  many  of  our  people,  just  awaken- 
ing to  aesthetic  sensations,  have  such  a  mistaken 
estimate  of  art.  They  view  it  as  an  undefined 
something  above  and  apart  from  themselves  and 
their  daily  lives,  an  Eleusinian  mystery  of  a  sa- 
cred priesthood,  to  be  seen  only  through  the  veil 
of  the  imagination,  not  amenable  to  the  laws  of 
science  or  the  results  of  experience,  nor  to  be  spok- 
en of  except  in  high-sounding  phrases  and  wanton 
praise.  Feeding  artists  on  this  diet  is  like  cram- 
ming children  with  colored  candies.  Every  true 
artist  shrinks  from  it,  and  yearns  for  a  remedy. 
This  will  appear  as  soon  as  the  public  comprehend 
that  it  is  as  feasible  to  teach  the  young  to  draw, 
paint,  and  model,  presupposing  average  intellec- 
tual faculties,  as  much  else  they  are  required 
to  learn ;  and  that  the  result  would  equal  much 
tlmt  now  passes  for  fine  art.  We  can  educate 
clever  external  artists  asjreadily  as  clever  arti- 
sans ;  a  certain  knack  of  hand,  and  development 
of  taste  and  of  the  perceptive  faculties  being  suf- 
12 


178 


FALSE  CRITICISM. 


ficient.  When  the  pubHc  see  this^  they  will  east 
aside  their  nonsense  and  mummery  about  art,  and 
judge  its  mechanical  qualities  with  the  same  in- 
telligent freedom  and  decision  that  they  do  the 
manual  arts  with  which  they  are  acquainted.  In 
fact,  design  and  the  science  of  color  should  be 
made  an  elementary  branch  of  instruction  in  our 
system  of  common  education,  precisely  as  we  are 
now  training  the  ear  to  music,  and  the  muscles  to 
strength  and  suppleness.  Genius  is  not  essential 
to  mere  painting  and  modelling,  certainly  not  to  a 
knowledge  of  principles,  and  a  respectable  degree 
of  skill  or  dexterity  in  their  manifestation.  These 
qualities  can  be  acquired  by  study  and  applica- 
tion. Genius  is  the  exception,  talent  the  rule, 
of  art  and  literature.  It  is  as  fatal  an  error  to 
postpone  the  acquisition  of  knowledge,  or  the  de- 
velopment of  a  faculty,  from  the  want  of  genius, 
as  to  fancy  that  genius  exists  because  we  have  a 
facility  of  doing  certain  things.  Unless  we  con- 
form our  language  to  truth,  we  shall  lose  sight 
of  the  right  distinction  of  words.  An  artisan 
who  makes  a  good  coat  is  more  useful  and  re- 
spectable than  a  painter  who  makes  bad  pictures. 
Even  a  child  would  laugh  at  the  absurdity  of  call- 
ing "  dime-novels  "  or  "  Eollo  story-books  "  works 
of  astonishing  genius,  or  of  applying  to  them  any 
of  the  hyperbolical  expressions  of  admiration 
which  are  so  lavishly  showered  by  excited  friend- 
ship or  an  indiscriminating  press  upon  almost 
every  effort  of  an  j^erican  artist.  Yet  the 
larger  portion  of  productions  are  no  more  match- 
less or  divine  than  the  common  run  of  books,  nor 


FALSE  CRITICISM, 


179 


imply  any  more  intellect  to  produce  them.  If 
we  should  begin  with  exhausting  the  capacity  for 
praise  of  our  tongue  on  penny-a-line  writers,  what 
would  be  left  for  Irving,  Emerson,  Hawthorne, 
Bryant,  or  Poe  ?  And  could  we  invent  words 
suitable  to  their  merits,  which  would  be  doubtful 
on  the  scale  applied  to  art,  imagination  would  ut- 
terly fail  us  in  coining  terms  to  measure  the  gen- 
ius of  the  absolutely  great  lights  of  literature,  the 
Dantes,  Homers,  Goethes,  and  Shakspeares.  Com- 
mon sense  must  stop  this  debasing  flattery  by  ex- 
posing its  fallacy.  It  will  be  a  fortunate  day,  when 
our  public  and  our  artists  meet  understandingly  face 
to  face,  having  put  out  of  sight  the  present  perni- 
cious system  of  befogging  and  befooling.  The  re- 
form lies  more  with  the  artists  than  the  public, 
for  they  are  its  teachers.  Eschewing  clap-trap,  let 
them  recognize  only  that  sort  of  criticism  which 
justifies  its  faith  by  reason  and  honest  likings. 
The  daily  journal  of  New  York  most  devoted  to 
art  thus  sums  up  a  notice  of  the  last  Artist  Fund 
Exhibition  :  "  All  the  pictures  possess  more  or 
less  merits  and  defects.  Perhaps  the  merits  pre- 
ponderate." Sagacious  on-the-fence  critic !  At 
the  opening  of  this  exhibition,  at  which  the  elite 
of  the  artists  and  literati  of  the  city  were  pres- 
ent, they  listened  complacently  to  the  following 
nonsense,  which  we  find  in  the  "  Evening  Post :  " 
"  He  [the  speaker]  referred  to  Cole's  picture, 
hanging  before  him,  as  embodying  the  chief  re- 
quirement of  art^  namely,  shadows"  We  will  not 
pursue  this  ungracious  portion  of  our  subject  f  ir- 
ther.    Enough  has  been  said  to  indicate  the  dis- 


180 


FALSE  CRITICISM. 


advantage  of  American  art  in  lacking  a  discrim- 
inating public,  and  in  the  present  habit  of  sense* 
less  praise  ;  the  poorer  the  art,  the  more  words 
used  to  inflate  public  opinion  relative  to  it. 

Before  the  establishment  of  the  "  Round  Table  " 
of  New  York,  there  was  scarcely  a  newspaper 
or  journal  in  America  sufficiently  independent  to 
admit  a  free  discussion  of  artists  and  art.  An 
article  calculated  to  provoke  discussion  was  ta- 
booed, for  fear  of  wounding  the  sensibilities  or 
harming  the  interests  of  some  one.  Few  writers 
ventured  to  assert  the  cause  of  art  itself,  because 
of  the  artists  or  their  friends.  This  false  system 
has  fostered  a  deceitful  ambition  in  numbers  who 
might  usefully  fill  other  positions  ;  so  that  we  are 
inundated  with  bad,  mechanical  work,  exulted 
over  by  the  press  at  large  as  proof  of  American 
genius,  when  in  reality  it  is  so  much  sad  evidence 
of  pretence  and  folly. 

Art  has  another  drawback,  in  the  superficial 
remarks  of  writers  who  are  tempted  to  wander 
into  a  field  which  they  have  not  taken  pains  pre- 
viously to  explore.  The  sugary  platitudes  of  the 
author  of  "  Our  Artists  "  ^  are  a  fair  specimen  of 
this  sort  of  writing.  Its  patronizing  pat-on-the- 
back  tone  is  an  affair  of  the  artists  themselves, 
so  we  pass  it  over.  Some  of  the  sentiments  ex- 
pressed are  trite  and  true  ;  but  for  an  article  in- 
tended to  inform  the  million,  it  gives  them  little 
beside  pretty  writing  and  mistaken  history  or  in- 
ference. We  quote  a  few  sentences.  The  writer, 
who  tells  us  he  is  a  clergyman,  says  to  the  artists, 

*  Harpers'  New  Monthly  Magazine^  Jan.  1864. 


MISTAKES  OF  OUR  CLERGY. 


181 


that  he  likes  to  "  chat  with  them  over  the  social 
table  about  pictures ; "  talks  of  "  the  sparkling 
glass  soon  empty  in  the  hand,  but  when  shall  that 
brimming  cup  of  beauty  be  exhausted  in  the 
grasp  of  high  art  ?  "  and  adds  that  he  "  who  sips 
the  dew  from  a  maiden's  lip  may  take  away  some 
of  its  freshness,"  etc.  We  submit  to  those  who 
honor  beauty  whether  this  is  the  sort  of  talk  to 
dignify  it,  or  whether  "  the  occasion  of  unusual 
enjoyment,"  in  which  punch  and  sensuous  similes 
flow  freely,  is  the  best  method  of  diffusing  intel- 
ligent ideas  of  art.  In  every  age,  "the  social 
table  "  has  proved  the  bane  of  spiritual  growth  in 
any  direction.  Instances  of  living  genius,  half- 
ruined  by  its  seductions,  are  already  too  common. 
Certainly,  no  true  friend  of  art,  least  of  all  the 
clergy,  should  advocate  festivals  of  this  character 
as  a  means  of  good  to  it. 

Other  remarks  of  the  same  writer  prove  that 
cultivation  in  one  profession  is  not  necessarily 
a  passport  to  intelligence  in  another.  Speaking 
of  introducing  pictures  into  churches,  he  re- 
marks :  "  We  should  hope  to  be  saved  the  inflic- 
tion of  worshipping  in  constant  presence  of  many 
of  the  customary  ecclesiastical  monstrosities  that 
cover  cathedral  walls.  Broiling  saints,  pinched 
and  starved  hermits,  grim  inquisitors,  ghostly 
monks  and  nuns,  are  not  to  us  the  best  imper- 
sonations of  the  Christian  religion."  The  only 
broiling  saint  that  we  can  recall,  after  ten  years' 
travel  and  study  of  art  in  Europe,  was  not  on  a 
cathedral  wall.  It  was  St.  Lawrence,  a  mar- 
tyr-hero of  the  early  Church,  painted  as  only 


182         MISTAKES  OF  OUR  CLERGY. 


Titian  could  paint.  Would  not  such  a  "  monstros- 
ity "  be  welcomed  even  by  American  artists,  on 
any  wall,  civil  or  sacred,  —  a  picture  which  ranks 
among  the  masterpieces  of  the  world's  greatest 
painter?  The  saints,  nuns,  and  monks  that  he 
sneers  at  were  in  their  days  the  "  humanity  which 
God  made,  redeemed,  and  consecrated ; "  and  their 
"  impersonations  "  are  chiefly  by  artists  like  Fra 
Angelico,  Francia,  Bellini,  and  Raphael,  men  wor- 
thy to  paint  those  who  consecrated  their  lives  to 
a  piety  which  was  often  tested  by  martyrdom. 
It  may  be  bad  taste,  but  really  we  have  the 
weakness  to  see  in  them  a  vital  energy  of  self- 
sacrifice  for  truth,  as  they  saw  it,  which  calls  for, 
at  the  least,  as  much  respect  as  the  nineteenth- 
century  life  of  the  pastor  of  a  fashionable  Prot- 
estant congregation.  If  the  writer,  in  exploring 
"  cathedral  walls,"  which  nowadays  are  7iot  cov- 
ered with  "  broiling  saints "  and  "  grim  inquisi- 
tors," saw  only  bad  pictures,  he  was  unfortunate 
in  his  discrimination. 

While  defending  the  pious  dead  from  the  as- 
saults of  the  unsympathetic  living,  and  trying  to 
uphold  the  truth  and  dignity  of  high  art,  we  can- 
not pass  over  a  mistaken  notion  widely  dissemi- 
nated by  the  eloquence  of  the  Kev.  Henry  Ward 
Beecher,  at  heart  a  true  champion  of  liberty,  but 
who  nevertheless  has  been  inadvertently  led  into 
publishing  some  singular  conclusions  in  regard 
to  Italian  mediasval  art.  It  is  not  an  easy  task 
to  rectify  errors  that  harmonize  with  popular 
prejudices,  and  are  sanctioned  by  eminent  sec- 
taiian  authority.    Mr.  Beecher,  in  his  lecture  be- 


HENRY  WARD  BEE  CHER. 


183 


fore  the  Sons  of  New  England,  Dec.  21,  1860 
says  :  — 

"  In  all  the  Italian  schools,  not  a  picture  had  ever 
probably  been  painted  that  carried  a  welcome  to  the 
common  people.  To  be  sure,  there  were  angels  end- 
less, and  Madonnas  and  Holy  Families  without  num- 
ber; there  were  monkish  legends  turned  into  color. 
Then  there  were  heathen  divinities  enough  to  bring 
back  the  court  of  Olympia,  and  put  Jupiter  again  in 
place  of  J ehovah.  But  in  this  immense  fertility,  —  in 
this  prodigious  wealth  of  pictures,  statues,  canvas,  and 
fresco,  —  I  know  of  nothing  that  served  the  common 
people.  In  art,  as  in  literature,  government,  govern- 
ment^ GOVERNMENT,  was  all,  and  people  nothing  1  I 
know  not  that  the  Eomanic  world  of  art  ever  pro- 
duced a  democratic  picture." 

"We  understand  this  to  mean,  that  before  the 
seventeenth  century  there  was  no  art  the  common 
people  cared  for  ;  that,  up  to  that  period,  art  was 
"  silently  fascinating  and  poisoning  the  soul 
through  its  most  potent  faculty,  the  imagina- 
tion," and  that  it  was  wholly  an  instrument  of 
pride,  superstition,  and  oppression  on  the  part  of 
the  rulers,  lay  and  clerical.  At  the  same  time, 
he  asserts  his  predilection  for  the  Germanic 
schools,  because  their  pictures  teem  '^with  nat- 
ural objects,  with  birds  and  cattle,  with  husband- 
ry, with  domestic  scenes  and  interiors."  We 
make  no  issue  with  those  whose  tastes  prefer  a 
boor's  pipe  or  gin-flagon  to  a  martyr's  palm  or 
saint's  nimbus,  a  Flemish  villager's  carousal  to  an 
Italian  tournament,  a  kitchen-scrub  to  a  Madon- 
na, the  ditch  and  dike  to  the  valley  or  mountain. 


184 


EEPLY  TO  H.  TT.  BEE  CHER. 


Such  taste  is  as  free  to  enjoy  after  its  kind  as  any 
other.  But  it  is  not  free  to  condemn  on  unsound 
premises,  and  to  jumble  historical  truth  and  per- 
sonal liking  into  a  medley  of  falsity  and  injustice. 

It  is  quite  true  that  the  Italians  never  did  have 
that  taste  in  art  which  seems  to  make  Mr.  Beech- 
er's  highest  {3esthetic  enjoyment.  Neither  did  the 
Greeks.  They  preferred  the  more  dignified,  hero- 
ic, refined,  and  ideal  aspects  of  humanity.  As  he 
rightly  observes,  "  Art  is  a  language ; "  and  in  their 
conversations  they  took  more  satisfaction  in  the 
poetical  and  imaginative  than  in  the  familiar  and 
common.  Teniers  vs.  Raphael,  —  the  sabot-footed, 
beer-swilling  boor  opposed  to  the  angels  that  Abra- 
ham entertained. 

Besides,  democratic  institutions  had  the  upper 
hand  in  Italy,  especially  in  Tuscany,  at  the  epoch 
which  Mr.  Beecher  denounces.  Art  decayed  as 
soon  as  its  patronage  fell  into  aristocratic  keeping. 
To  be  a  noble  in  Florence  in  the  days  of  the 
Giotteschi  was  as  uncomfortable  as  to  be  a  Se- 
cessionist at  the  North  now.  The  art  of  Italy, 
from  its  revival  in  the  twelfth  century  to  its  prime 
in  the  sixteenth,  was  emphatically  the  offspring  of 
the  feeling  and  taste  of  all  classes  of  the  people. 
They  created  the  demand  for  it,  and  paid  for  it 
most  liberally  out  of  their  profits  in  trade.  Gi- 
otto's Campanile,  the  shrine  of  Orsanmichele, 
Ghiberti's  Gates  of  Paradise,  and  miles  of  large- 
hearted  frescos,  all  came  from  the  people.  They 
carried  Cimabue's  noble  picture  in  triumph  to  its 
final  resting-place,  —  Duccio's,  too,  with  songs  and 
music  and  banners ;  they  crowded  to  the  opening 


REPLY  TO  E.  W,  BEECHER. 


185 


of  the  Carmine  chapel  to  see  Masaccio's  work, 
and  took  as  lively  and  intelligent  an  interest  in 
the  rivalry  between  Leonardo's  and  Michel  An- 
gelo's  cartoons  as  we  now  do  in  the  question  of 
iron-clad  ships.  We  ask  Mr.  Beecher  to  point 
out  a  single  great  work  of  one  of  the  great  mas- 
ters whom  he  anathematizes,  which  is,  as  he  as- 
serts of  the  entire  art  of  this  period,  "  the  minion 
of  monarchy,  the  servant  of  corrupted  religion,  or 
the  mistress  of  lust."  Protestants  and  Catholics 
who  are  privileged  to  see  the  works  of  Fra  An- 
gelico  and  his  school  have  but  one  opinion  of 
their  purity  and  spirituality.  Do  not  the  "  Script- 
ures "  of  Raphael  in  the  Vatican  furnish  the  very 
designs  used  by  Protestants  to  illustrate  their 
Bibles  and  religious  works  ?  Do  we  not  daily 
recognize  Masaccio,  Ghirlandajo,  and  their  con- 
temporaries, in  manifold  ways,  in  our  illustrated 
books  ?  Do  not  the  walls  of  the  Campo  Santo 
at  Pisa  tell  the  entire  story  of  revealed  religion, 
from  the  creation  to  the  crucifixion  ?  Have  not 
Orgagna,  Martini,  Gozzoli,  and  a  hundred  others 
scattered  far  and  wide  throughout  Italy,  in  church, 
chapel,  council-hall,  and  private  dwelling,  on  the 
streets  and  by  the  road-side,  the  Scriptural  story 
of  the  fall  and  redemption  ?  Are  these  notliing 
to  the  common  people  ?  Does  the  identical  relig- 
ious fact  or  dogma  which  is  "  poison  "  to  the  soul 
if  put  into  a  pictorial  form  before  printing  was  in- 
vented, become  a  means  of  grace,  in  the  shape  of 
a  tract  or  sermon,  in  the  year  1860  ?  Was  it 
"  nothing  "  that  the  hope  of  immortality,  the  les- 
sons of  faith,  the  fear  of  hell,  and  the  bliss  of 


186  REPLY  TO  H.  W.  BEECHER. 


heaven  were  brought  vividly  home  to  the  feelings 
of  an  imaginative,  demonstrative  people,  in  a  more 
efficacious  way  than  by  the  Puritan  machinery  of 
lectures  and  colporteurs  ?  Their  taste  demanded 
instruction  and  entertainment  in  this  way,  and  it 
continues  to  do  so  to  this  day.  They  find  refresh- 
ment and  sympathy  in  the  pictured  and  sculptured 
representations  of  maternal  and  filial  love  and 
sacrifice,  in  the  pure  sentiments  and  holy  aspira- 
tions and  self-denials  set  forth  in  those  sacred  pict- 
ures which  Mr.  Beecher  condemns.  They  touch 
their  hearts,  and  we  have  had  occasion  to  know 
that  they  are  quite  as  potent  an  influence  for  good 
as  are  the  spoken  appeals  of  Puritan  preachers. 
Italian  artists  of  the  best  periods,  with  but  few 
exceptions,  sprang  from  the  people,  were  trained 
among  them,  were  democratic  in  principle ;  but 
they  also  had  elevated  tastes  and  aims,  and  much 
devout  feeling,  and  they  embodied  in  their  works 
that  which  the  people,  apart  from  and  indepen- 
dent of  the  government,  most  desired.  Emphat- 
ically we  pronounce  their  art  to  have  been  the  art 
of  the  common  people.  It  is  a  cause  of  thank- 
fulness that  the  Italian  schools  kept  alive  the  high- 
est instincts  of  art,  elevating  its  mission  above  the 
sordid,  sensual,  common,  or  material  aspects  of 
humanity.  Not  that  we  value  the  motives  which 
inspire  the  better  efforts  of  the  Northern  schools 
the  less,  for  each  is  excellent  and  enjoyable  in  its 
way,  but  because  we  believe  the  higher  the  mo- 
tive, the  more  it  elevates  the  taste.  Italian  art 
was  chiefly  devoted  to  religion.  Mr.  Beecher 
says  "  every  altar-piece  was  a  golden  lie,  every 


REPLY  TO  H.  W.  BEECIIER, 


187 


carved  statue  beckoned  the  superstitious  soul  to 
some  pernicious  error."  Surely  it  is  not  unchar- 
itable to  retort  that  every  word  which  he  has 
uttered  in  this  connection  is  a  "  pernicious  error  ; " 
for  altar-piece,  statue,  and  truth  alike  refute  his 
statement.  We  censure  that  Oriental  egotism 
which  holds  all  but  the  flowery  land  to  be  only 
as  the  dust  of  the  earth.  How  much  better  is  it 
in  one  of  us,  with  the  means  of  information  almost 
at  our  door,  to  pass  such  wholesale  condemnation, 
unjustified  by  any  adequate  study  ?  If  there  be 
no  element  or  phase  of  humanity  wholly  good,  so 
there  is  none  wholly  bad.  We  have  had  a  long 
experience  in  the  study  of  altar-pieces  and  sacred 
sculpture,  and,  although  not  a  Roman  Catholic, 
have  discovered  in  them  quite  as  much  Scriptural 
truth,  as  pure  motive,  as  exciting  incentive  to  holi- 
ness, and  as  convincing  arguments  for  a  spiritual 
life,  as  we  have  found  in  the  prolific  productions 
of  tract  societies,  and  the  average  quality  of  Prot- 
estant discourses.  Let  us  be  just  even  to  the 
"scarlet  lady."  There  is  no  gain  to  humanity 
in  falsifying  the  record  of  history.  The  Bible 
is  as  much  the  inspiration  of  Catholic  religious 
art  as  it  is  the  basis  of  Protestant  religious  liter- 
ature ;  and  whenever  art  borrowed  its  motives 
from  the  traditions  of  the  Church,  the  men  and 
women  it  glorified  were  those  who  have  honored 
humanity  by  self-denying  lives  and  unflinching 
martyrdoms,  —  men  and  women  whose  counter- 
parts in  good  deeds  Protestants  find  in  the  How- 
ards, Frys,  and  Nightingales  of  to-day.  Be- 
cause the  aesthetic  Italian  chooses  to  perpetuate 


188 


REPLY  TO  H.  W.  BEE  CHER. 


the  memories  of  his  martyrs  and  saints  in  stained 
glass,  stainless  marble,  and  luminous  canvas,  is  a 
preacher  of  the  gospel  common  to  all  Christians, 
though  he  be  of  a  different  temperament  and  rit- 
ual, authorized  to  assert  that  "  every  window 
suborned  the  sun,  and  sent  history  to  bear  on  a 
painted  lie  or  a  legendary  superstition  ?  " 

But  "  legendary  superstition  "  did  not  monopo- 
lize Italian  art.  The  Pre-Raphaelite  period  af- 
fords some  of  the  purest  examples  of  certain 
qualities  of  landscape-art  which  we  know.  Cor- 
reggio  and  Titian,  later,  are  as  truly  great  in  tl\<it 
as  in  other  departments.  In  every  instance  it  is 
secondary,  as  it  should  be,  to  higher  motives,  but 
none  the  less  informed  with  its  true  spirit.  There 
is  also  in  early  Italian  art  much  spirited  and  affec- 
tionate treatment  of  animal  life,  always  subservi- 
ent, indeed,  to  some  loftier  purpose.  The  people 
indulged  themselves  in  pictures  to  an  extent  which 
we  Northern  utilitarians  would  consider  as  lux- 
urious extravagance.  But  they  loved  allegories, 
poetical  fancies,  historical  pieces,  rich  and  ani- 
mated spectacles,  —  they  do  now,  —  and  they 
largely  patronized  the  art  that  gratified  their 
taste.  This  was  ''the  life  of  the  common  peo- 
ple." Fierce  and  turbulent  democrats  they  were, 
most  of  them,  though  Mr.  Beecher  will  have  it 
that  their  art  was  the  "  minion  of  monarchy,"  and 
that  the  Italian  citizen  has  ''  no  thanks  to  render 
to  the  art  of  the  past."  He  does,  however,  ren- 
der homage  to  it,  and  prizes  its  remains  as  a  glo- 
rious memorial  of  ancient  liberties.  When  Mr. 
Beecher  says  of  it,  "I  know  of  nothing  that 


REPLY  TO  H.  W.  BEECHER, 


189 


served  the  common  people,"  he  could  not  have 
been  aware  that  the  most  remarkable  historical 
painting  of  the  new  kingdom  of  Italy,  Ussi's 
Expulsion  of  the  Duke  of  Athens  from  Flor- 
ence by  the  people  in  a.  d.  1342,  is  but  a  new 
version  of  a  fresco  of  that  time  by  Giottino,  rep- 
resenting the  same  scene,  with  the  addition  that 
the  people  are  represented  as  acknowledging  their 
victory  as  due  to  Divine  aid,  —  a  sentiment,  we 
trust,  as  creditable  to  them  in  his  eyes  as  was  the 
thanksgiving  of  our  Puritan  fathers  upon  their 
victories  over  the  Indian  Philip  and  George  III. 

It  is  an  artistic  anachronism  which  several  of 
our  critics  have  fallen  into,  upon  a  superficial 
glance  at  the  few  and  minor  specimens  of  the  old 
masters  to  be  seen  in  this  country,  to  consider 
their  works  as  comparable  only  to  the  efforts  of 
children  in  their  first  lessons  in  writing.  What ! 
the  designs  of  a  Giotto,  Orgagna,  Fra  Angelico, 
or  Luca  Signorelli  of  no  more  beauty  or  value 
than  the  pot-hooks  of  a  six-year-old  girl !  By 
parity  of  reasoning,  the  architect  who  designed 
the  best  of  our  new  meeting-houses  ought  to  have 
displayed  astonishing  genius  in  comparison  with 
the  designers  of  the  Loggia  and  Campanile  at 
Florence.  Six  centuries  have  but  served  to 
stamp  the  Florentine  monuments  as  marvels  of 
beauty  and  skill,  original  and  lofty  conceptions, 
in  harmony  with  their  purposes,  and  burning  with 
intellectual  life.  Certain  works  of  man  are  a 
perpetual  joy,  —  the  same  yesterday,  to-day,  and 
forever,  —  because  they  are  a  revelation  from  the 
unseen,  and  an  assertion  of  the  eternal  supremacy 


190 


REPLY  TO  E.  W.  BEE  CHER, 


of  spirit  over  matter.  Genius  creates,  talent  con- 
structs. The  power  of  the  one  is  instinctive,  a 
gift  from  above  ;  of  the  other,  receptive,  accumu- 
lating by  example  and  training.  Hence  genius 
alone  gives  birth  to  great,  new,  or  noble  work ; 
while  simple  talent,  however  clever  in  execution, 
often  fails  from  want  of  intuitive  discernment  and 
original  thought. 

In  viewing  art  new  to  him,  one  should  not 
abandon  himself  to  first  impressions  without  in- 
vestigating their  soundness.  If  he  does  so  too 
hastily,  he  often  finds  upon  further  experience 
that  his  wisdom  was  foolishness.  Art  may  seem 
obscure  or  unintelligible,  and  the  fault  lie  not  in 
it,  but  in  us.  We  can  comprehend  no  work  un- 
til we  have  raised  ourselves  to  the  level  of  the 
author's  meaning  and  feeling.  All  partial  or  one- 
sided comprehension  is  a  mutual  loss.  Yet  the 
best  beginning  of  any  intercourse  is  frank  ex- 
pression; for  the  basis  of  misconception  being 
exposed,  an  understanding  is  more  than  half  ac- 
complished. We  sympathize  with  the  visitor  who 
said  before  us,  of  some  early  Italian  paintings,  "  I 
should  as  soon  think  of  enjoying  bad  health  or 
bruises  as  them,"  because  it  needs  a  few  hints 
only  entirely  to  change  the  point  of  view.  There 
is,  indeed,  a  wide  gulf  between  the  extremes  of 
cultivation  and  sympathy  and  stolid  apathy  or 
ignorance.  Each  can  be  sincere  and  genuine. 
The  visitor  who  exclaimed  on  seeing  for  the  first 
time  gold-background  pictures,  as  he  passed  from 
one  room  into  another,  "  More  of  these  d — d  ri- 
diculous Chinese  paintings  ! "  was  as  much  a  rep- 


REPLY  TO  H.  W.  BEE  CHER. 


191 


resentative  of  one  class  of  critics  among  us  —  such 
an  exclamation  would  not  have  occurred  in  Europe 
out  of  England  —  as  the  person  whom  we  saw 
seated,  moved  to  tears,  before  one  of  the  very 
works  thus  profanely  condemned  was  a  represent- 
ative of  another. 

The  rough,  uncultivated  class  is  a  more  hope- 
ful one  to  elevate  to  higher  perceptions  in  art 
than  that  which  looks  upon  the  work  of  the  hands 
that  designed  the  Spina  church  at  Pisa,  adorned 
the  Cathedral  of  Orvieto,  or  wrote  Bible-stories 
in  fresco  at  Assisi,  covering  the  walls  of  its  Duo- 
mo  with  spiritual  allegory,  as  but  the  scrawls  of 
children  in  comparison  with  the  portfolio  of  the 
modern  drawing-master.  The  latter  class  seeks 
results  not  sought  by  the  old  master.  It  over- 
looks the  fact  that  the  men  whose  works  it  super- 
ciliously condemns  have  received  for  centuries  the 
unanimous  suffrage  of  the  cultivated  judges  of  all 
nations.  There  is  much  technical  failure  in  their 
work.  But  it  often  serves  to  make  more  conspic- 
uous their  spiritual  feeling  and  depth  of  earnest- 
ness. Chaucer  and  Shakspeare  do  not  spell  as 
we  do  ;  but  do  these  differences  of  form  between 
the  literature  of  our  ancestors  and  our  own  prove 
theirs  to  be  the  scrawls  and  ideas  of  children  ? 
Why  should  it  be  held  different  with  art  ?  Giotto 
was  worthy  in  all  respects  to  be  the  friend  of 
Dante,  and  Martini  of  Petrarch ;  so  the  poets 
themselves  tell  us.  Painting  and  poetry  are  but 
different  phases  of  speech.  It  becomes  us  to 
throw  off  all  conceit  of  actual  superiority  in  in- 
tellect over  our  predecessors,  and,  before  judging 


192  HOW  CRITICS  MISJUDGE. 


them,  to  inquire  in  what  circumstances  they  dif- 
fered from  us,  and  whether  what  we  do  is  as  well 
done,  and  from  as  exalted  inspiration,  as  what 
they  did.  Any  other  course  puts  us  farther 
apart,  and  leads  to  wrong  conclusions.  "  I  do 
not  believe  in  them,"  is  the  doctrine  of  conceited 
judgment,  effectually  darkening  the  mind  to  light. 
Some  critics  misjudge  the  early  Italian  art  from 
choosing  a  wrong  point  of  view.  We  have  seen 
a  professor  of  drawing  go  hastily  up  to  one  of 
Lorenzetto's  angels,  and  turn  as  hastily  away, 
with  the  curt  remark,  "  That  man  did  not  know 
what  bones  were."  Perhaps  not.  The  teacher 
had  been  doing  nothing  else  except  trying  to  draw 
anatomically  well.  Lorenzetto's  imagination  had 
striven  to  rise  to  the  vision  of  ethereal  beings, 
and  to  the  symbolizing  of  spiritual  ideas.  To  us 
his  success  seemed  wonderful,  which  might  not 
have  been  the  case  had  he  practised  more  on 
"bones."  The  scientific  knowledge  of  design  of 
the  old  eclectic  school  exceeded  that  of  our  own. 
Yet,  as  Blackwood  justly  states,  "  learned  "  as  it 
was  "  in  all  the  tricks  of  composition,  and  declam- 
atory in  startling  effect,  it  has  in  great  measure 
given  place  to  those  earlier  works  where  thought 
and  deep  emotion  are  content  to  be  simple  and 
truthful."  We  are  to  enjoy  both  the  material 
and  spiritual  aspects  of  art,  but  each  at  its  rela- 
tive value.  It  is  an  error  to  suppose  there  can 
be  no  attractiveness  in  painting  without  perfect 
design.  Supernal  beings  can  only  be  suggested 
by  art,  just  as  they  are  to  our  imagination.  That 
artist  is  most  successful  in  this  who  best  impresses 


CONCEIT  OF  CRITICISM. 


193 


the  spectator  with  the  idea  of  a  spiritual  being, 
avoiding  all  intrusion  of  technical  artifice,  or  dis- 
play of  anatomical  dexterity.  Fra  Angelico  is 
excelled  by  many  a  school-boy  now  in  the  science 
of  design,  yet  no  artist  of  any  age  equals  him  in 
the  spirituality  of  his  angels  and  Madonnas,  or 
gives  more  elevated  types  of  heavenly  beings. 
But  were  a  committee  of  drawing-masters  to  re- 
port upon  his  scientific  knowledge,  we  fear  their 
list  of  defects  would  be  as  long  as  would  be  the 
list  of  misspelt  words  taken  by  some  modern 
pedagogue  from  the  "  Faerie  Queene,"  or  the 
letters  of  Abelard.  Give,  however,  to  either  an 
angel  to  conceive,  or  a  poem  to  compose,  and  the 
result  would  plainly  show  the  absolute  difference 
between  inherent  genius  and  acquired  knowledge. 
What  should  we  think  of  one  who  could  find  no 
loveliness  in  a  sunset  because  unable  to  analyze 
its  colors,  and  get  the  exact  proportions  of  the 
orange,  violet,  gold,  or  emerald  hues  which  form 
its  glory?  Yet  of  such  a  disposition  are  those 
who  approach  art  solely  through  science.  Art  is 
an  occult  power.  If  the  eye  is  trained  to  see 
only  a  bush,  it  sees  nothing  more ;  but  if  the  in- 
ner vision  is  opened,  as  with  Moses,  the  angel  of 
the  Lord  is  beheld  "in  a  flame  of  fire  out  of 
the  midst  of  a  bush." 

There  is  another  obstacle  beside  the  want  of 
imagination  to  prevent  enjoyment  of  art.  None 
find  joy  in  natural  scenery  whose  minds  are  cap- 
tious or  irritable.  Both  art  and  nature  demand  a 
receptive  mood.  Heart  and  mind  should  overflow 
towards  them,  with  the  desire  of  Christ's  little 
13 


194 


EONESTY  IN  TASTE, 


children  to  know  about  the  kingdom  of  heaven. 
The  conceit  of  pseudo-amateurship  spoils  much 
pleasure  from  its  want  of  faith.  A  fear  of  be- 
ing deceived  and  the  vanity  of  affected  knowl- 
edge are  stumbling-blocks  to  progress  in  any  di- 
rection. In  art  they  often  look  ludicrous  or  stu- 
pid. The  word  "  original "  is  a  strange  mystery 
to  many.  They  attach  to  it  vague  ideas  of 
superexcellence.  We  have  heard  a  critic  of  this 
sort  pronounce  the  very  pictures  in  a  gallery 
about  which  there  might  be  discussion,  perfectly 
genuine,  and  those  of  which,  from  their  very  char- 
acter and  material,  there  could  not  be  the  slightest 
doubt,  fabrications.  Although  wholly  ignorant  of 
that  form  of  art,  he  thought  it  incumbent  upon 
him  to  pronounce  judgment  upon  it.  Let  every 
one,  however,  be  honest  in  his  taste,  seeing  with 
his  own  eyes  and  not  another's,  before  a  common 
point  of  view  is  formed.  It  is  absurd  for  a  real- 
ist to  try  to  force  his  liking  into  that  of  an  ideal- 
ist. Until  his  senses  are  awakened  by  the  natural 
growth  of  mind  in  that  direction,  let  him  enjoy 
beauty  after  his  own  hind,  frankly  and  earnestly. 
In  being  loyal  to  truth,  truth  will  more  readily 
come  to  him. 

To  return  from  particular  to  general  aspects  of 
the  question.  Our  haste  to  be  rich  extends  itself 
in  the  direction  of  premature  effort  and  ambition. 
There  is  too  eager  desire  of  immediate  realization. 
We  declare  ourselves  to  be  men  before  attaining 
the  full  experience  and  knowledge  of  childhood. 
Premature  greatness  and  newspaper-fed  reputa- 
tions thus  become  the  national  foible.    It  is  not 


NO  TIME  FOR  ART. 


195 


manual  labor  that  is  shirked,  but  intellectual  self- 
discipline,  —  the  patient  reflection  and  slow  men- 
tal growth,  modestly  inquiring  of  the  past  and 
studying  deeply  and  earnestly  the  signs  of  the 
present,  in  order  to  build  up  a  secure  future,  as 
have  done  all  great  masters,  not  in  the  Httleness 
of  Dutch  broom-painting,  but  with  the  devout 
and  steady  inspiration  which  led  an  Angelo  and 
a  Turner  to  take  no  heed  of  time  in  their  strug- 
gle for  lasting  success. 

We  think  we  have  not  leisure  to  allow  the 
feeling  for  art  its  legitimate  rights,  and  so  crowd 
it  aside,  or  talk  business  to  it.  It  is  an  affair  of 
idle  moments,  a  phase  of  fashion,  or  the  curiosity 
of  a  traveller,  who  brings  the  trick  of  bargaining 
into  his  new-born  love  of  beauty,  and  fails  to  ap- 
preciate an  object  of  art  except  as  it  is  cheap  or 
dear,  —  a  pretty  something  to  complete  the  furni- 
ture of  a  house,  on  a  par  with  upholstery  as  orna- 
ment, to  be  shut  up,  like  dress-coats  and  best 
chambers,  for  occasional  use,  —  an  article  to  be 
ashamed  of  for  its  cost,  yet  to  be  proud  of,  in 
being  able  to  own,  —  a  necessity  of  gentility,  —  a 
presumptive  evidence  of  cultivation  or  refinement, 
—  a  competitive  display  of  art-riches,  —  in  fact, 
anything  but  itself^  —  such  is  the  loose,  fluctuat- 
ing, mercenary,  and  vain  sentiment  too  many  dig- 
nify as  the  love  of  art,  but  which,  in  sober  truth, 
is  a  selfish  vanity  of  possession. 

These  are  some  of  the  general  disadvantages 
art  has  intrinsically  to  contend  with  in  America. 
On  the  other  hand,  what  it  lacks  of  inspiration 
from  the  past  is  compensated  for  in  the  bright 
horizon  of  the  future. 


196  ADVANTAGES  IN  AMERICA. 


First,  it  has  freedom  of  development,  and  a 
growing  national  knowledge,  refinement,  and  taste, 
to  stimulate  it,  and  strengthen  the  common  in- 
stinct of  beauty,  which  never  wholly  deserts  hu- 
man nature  even  in  the  most  untoward  condi- 
tions. It  has  also  a  few  earnest  hearts  to  cherish 
its  feeling,  and  promote  its  spread,  with  the  enthu- 
siasm of  sincerity,  and  conviction  of  its  impor- 
tance to  moral  welfare  and  complete  education. 

Secondly,  it  is  not  overborne  by  the  weight  of 
a  glorious  past,  disheartening  the  weak  of  the 
present,  and  rendering  many,  even  of  the  strong, 
servile  and  mind-ridden.  True,  it  has  not  the 
compensating  virtue  of  lofty  example  and  noble 
standard ;  but  the  creative  faculty  is  freer,  and 
more  ready  to  shape  itself  to  the  spirit  of  its 
age.  Especially  is  our  country  free  from  those 
weighty  intellectual  authorities  and  conventional 
conditions  which  powerfully  tend  to  hedge  in  the 
student  to  prescribed  paths,  undermine  his  origi- 
nality, and  warp  his  native  individualism. 

Thirdly,  art  is  in  no  sense  a  monopoly  of  gov- 
ernment, religion,  or  social  caste.  It  is  not  even 
under  permanent  bondage  to  fashion.  It  rather 
leads  or  misleads  it  than  is  led  by  it.  For  its 
sustenance  it  appeals  directly  to  the  people. 
Borne  along  on  the  vast  ocean  of  democracy,  art 
being  a  vital  principle  of  life,  it  will  eventually 
spread  everywhere,  and  promote  the  happiness  of 
aU. 

Fourthly,  it  possesses  a  fresh,  vigorous,  broad 
continent  for  its  field :  in  the  natural  world, 
grand,  wild,  and  inspiriting  ;  in  man,  enterprising, 


KNOWNOTHINGim  IN  ART,  197 


energetic,  and  ambitious,  hesitating  at  no  difficul- 
ties, outspoken,  hardy  of  limb,  and  quick  of  ac- 
tion ;  thought  that  acknowledges  no  limits ;  mind 
that  dares  to  solve  all  questions  affecting  human- 
ity to  their  remotest  consequences,  daring,  doubt- 
ing, believing,  and  hoping,  giving  birth  to  new 
ideas,  which  are  ever  passing  on  to  new  forms. 

But  the  favorable  conditions  named  are  more 
negative  than  positive  in  character.  Indeed,  in 
this  respect  the  art  of  America  is  on  the  same 
footing  as  the  remaining  branches  of  her  civiliza- 
tion. Their  specific  advantages  of  growth  over 
the  Old  World  are  simply  greater  latitude  of 
choice,  and  few  obstacles  to  overcome  in  the  way 
of  time-worn  ideas  and  effete  institutions.  In 
one  word,  art  is  free  here ;  as  free  to  surpass  all 
previous  art  as  it  is  free  to  remain,  if  it  so  inclines, 
low  and  common.  But  if  America  elects  to  de- 
velop her  art  wholly  out  of  herself,  without  refer- 
ence to  the  accumulated  experience  of  older  civil- 
izations, she  will  make  a  mistake,  and  protract  her 
improvement.  There  is  a  set  of  men  among  us 
who  talk  loftily  of  the  independent,  indigenous 
growth  of  American  art ;  of  its  freedom  of  obliga- 
tion to  the  rest  of  the  world  ;  of  its  inborn  capaci- 
ty to  originate,  invent,  create,  and  make  anew  ;  of 
the  spoiling  of  those  minds  whose  instincts  prompt 
them  to  study  art  where  it  is  best  understood  and 
most  worthily  followed.  Perhaps  so !  Never- 
theless it  would  be  a  great  waste  of  time  to  adopt 
such  a  system,  and  possibly  it  might  fail.  This 
sort  of  art-knownothingism  is  as  impracticable, 
and  as  contrary  to  our  national  life,  as  its  fooHsh 


198 


ART  ECLECTIC. 


political  brother,  which  perished  still-born.  We 
have  not  time  to  invent  and  study  everything 
anew.  The  fast-flying  nineteenth  century  would 
laugh  us  to  scorn  should  we  attempt  it.  No  one 
dreams  of  it  in  science,  ethics,  or  physics.  Why 
then  propose  it  in  art?  We  are  a  composite 
people.  Our  knowledge  is  eclectic.  The  prog- 
ress we  make  is  due  rather  to  our  free  choice  and 
action  than  to  any  innate  superiority  of  mind  over 
other  nations.  We  buy,  borrow,  adopt,  and  adapt. 
With  a  seven-league  boot  on  each  leg,  our  pace  is 
too  rapid  for  profound  study  and  creative  thought. 
For  some  time  to  come,  Europe  must  do  for  us  all 
that  we  are  in  too  much  of  a  hurry  to  do  for  our- 
selves. It  remains,  then,  for  us  to  be  as  eclectic  in 
our  art  as  in  the  rest  of  our  civilization.  To  get 
artistic  riches  by  virtue  of  assimilated  examples, 
knowledge,  and  ideas,  drawn  from  all  sources,  and 
made  national  and  homogeneous  by  a  solidarity 
of  our  own,  is  our  right  pathway  to  consummate 
art. 

No  invidious  nationalism  should  enter  into  art 
competition  or  criticism.  The  true  and  beautiful 
cannot  be  permanently  monopolized  by  race,  class, 
or  sect.  God  has  left  them  as  free  and  universal 
as  the  air  we  breathe.  We  should  therefore  copy 
his  liberality,  and  invite  art  to  our  shores,  gen- 
erously providing  for  it,  without  other  motive 
than  its  merits.  From  whatever  source  it  may 
come,  Greek,  Italian,  French,  English,  or  German, 
nay,  Chinese,  Hindoo,  and  African,  welcome  it, 
and  make  it  our  own.  Let  every  public  work, 
as  are  our  institutions,  be  free  to  the  genius  of 


ART  ECLECTIC. 


199 


all  men.  Let  us  even  compete  with  other  nations; 
in  inviting  to  our  shores  the  best  art  of  the  world. 
As  soon  as  it  reaches  our  territory,  it  becomes 
part  of  our  flesh  and  blood.  Whither  the  great- 
est attraction  tends,  thither  will  genius  go  and 
make  its  home.  Titian  was  not  a  Venetian  by 
birth,  but  his  name  now  stands  for  the  highest 
excellence  of  that  school,  as  Raphael  does  for  that 
of  Rome,  and  Leonardo  for  the  Milanese.  In 
adopting  genius,  a  country  profits  not  the  artist 
so  much  as  itself.  Both  are  thereby  honored. 
Foreign  governments  set  a  wise  example  in  throw- 
ing open  the  designs  for  their  public  edifices  to 
the  artistic  competition  of  the  world.  Least  of 
all  should  America  be  behind  in  this  sound  pol- 
icy, for  no  country  stands  in  sorer  need  of  artistic 
aid. 


Painting  and  the  Early  Painters  of  America.  —  Benjamin 
West;  Copley;  Leslie;  Trumbull;  Sully;  Peale;  Stuart; 
Mount;  Vanderlyn;  Cole;  Washington  Allston. 

^^I^MERICANS  first  won  distinction  in  paint- 
^  ing.  We  have,  however,  to  look  back  but  a 
few  years  to  witness  the  immature  efforts 
of  those  painters  who  first  showed  our  people  that 
the  art-faculty  existed  in  them.  To  Benjamin  West 
is  due  the  credit  of  the  discovery.  And,  as  if  na- 
ture meant  to  show  that  not  even  a  rigidly  hostile 
creed,  added  to  the  hard  necessities  of  an  incipient 
civilization,  was  capable  of  stifling  her  aesthetic  in- 
stincts, the  first  bright  example  she  gave  of  them 
was  under  the  garb  of  a  Quaker.  West  by  intu- 
ition was  as  much  an  artist  as  Raphael.  Noth- 
ing could  have  diverted  him  from  the  career  na- 
ture formed  him  for.  Americans  owe  him  a  statue, 
not  so  much  as  an  artist,  as  for  asserting  to  the 
world  the  aesthetic  capacity  of  a  newly  fledged 
race.  That  one  West  should  be  an  artist  was  by 
itself  a  fact  of  no  interest  to  mankind.  But  as 
the  first-born  artist,  fresh  from  the  wilderness  of 
the  New  World,  he  was  a  surprise  to  Europe  and 
a  wonder  to  his  countrymen.    He  quickened  our 


WEST  AND  COPLEY. 


201 


blood  into  aesthetic  life,  and  took  away  the  reproach 
of  non-artistic  vitality.  To  what  an  extent  West 
could  have  developed  his  talents  had  he  remained 
at  home,  is  matter  of  conjecture.  That  he  would 
have  been  more  original  in  invention  and  national 
in  the  motives  of  his  painting  it  is  easy  to  per- 
ceive. But  transplanted  in  early  youth,  first  to 
Italy,  and  later  to  England,  the  academies  took 
possession  of  him,  and  he  became  eventually  more 
distinguished  for  knowledge  and  taste  than  for 
inventive  thought  and  original  power.  He  had 
large  ideas  and  high  aims,  and  formed  his  manner 
upon  the  best  school-examples  of  illustrative,  his- 
torical, and  religious  art. 

After  West  comes  Copley,  whom,  with  Leslie, 
we  can  claim  as  American  only  by  birth.  In 
every  other  respect  they  were  thoroughly  English, 
doing  nothing  whatever  for  their  own  country  ex- 
cept to  leave  it.  Copley  painted  some  hard,  real- 
istic portraits  here,  cold  in  color  and  aristocratic 
in  type,  as  was  his  feeling.  He  speedily  became 
eminent  abroad,  because  of  his  cleverness  in  the 
mechanism  of  painting,  aiming  rather  to  give  his- 
toric facts,  or  scenic  effects,  than  ideas.  He  is 
dramatic,  mannered,  with  slight  aesthetic  feeling, 
but  considerable  manual  skill,  individualistic  in 
style,  and  English  in  tone,  with  precisely  the  qual- 
ities of  coloring  and  design  to  please  Londoners 
of  rank  and  fashion,  calling  for  no  more  exer- 
cise of  the  intellectual  faculties  than  would  be 
necessary  for  the  enjoyment  of  panoramic  paint- 
ing. There  is  nothing  in  his  art  to  make  him  a 
loss  to  America.    Indeed,  had  he  been  partial  to 


202 


TRUMBULL, 


his  native  land,  neither  he  nor  any  other  artist, 
unless  of  eminent  genius,  could  have  lived  long 
under  the  weighty  pressure  of  British  character 
without  losing  much  of  their  own  individuality. 
Copley  was  entirely  absorbed  into  English  life. 
So  was  Leslie,  a  painter  of  sufficient  talent  to 
make  Americans  desire  to  claim  him,  but  who 
gives  no  patriotic  response  in  his  works.  Posi- 
tive, cold,  and  inharmonious  in  color,  expressing  no 
sentiment  by  it,  he  is,  nevertheless,  quite  a  master 
of  intellectual  expression  and  vigorous  design. 
He,  too,  was  artist  of  the  aristocracy,  refined  and 
cultivated,  but  with  no  more  sympathy  for  the 
highest  walks  of  his  profession  than  he  had  for 
the  democratic  proclivities  of  his  countrymen. 
His  friend  Wilkie  with  broader  instincts  opened 
up  his  art  to  the  feelings  and  sentiments  of  the 
people.  Leslie  narrowed  his  to  the  artificial  at- 
mosphere of  salons.    There  we  leave  him. 

Trumbull,  Sully,  and  Peale  are  Americans  in 
feehng  and  expression,  although  their  education, 
of  necessity,  was  more  or  less  foreign.  Trumbull 
resembles  Copley  in  his  general  style,  but  he  was  a 
man  of  finer  taste,  warmer  color,  and  wider  ideas. 
He  was  our  first  historical  painter,  much  the  best 
we  have  had  in  composition,  truthful  and  natural 
in  portraiture,  avoiding  exaggeration,  faithful  to 
his  principles  of  art,  and  too  honest  to  rely  on 
technical  artifices  for  effect.  Above  all,  we  see 
the  gentleman  and  patriot  of  the  old  school  in  his 
paintings.  There  is  a  high-toned  sense  of  charac- 
ter and  individuality  in  his  portraits.  Our  fore- 
fathers are  better  represented  in  the  portraiture 


STUART, 


203 


of  their  day  than  the  distinguished  men  of  ours  in 
theirs.  His  historical  compositions  are  graphic, 
well-balanced,  well-composed.  Fond  of  spirited 
action,  he  equally  understands  the  value  of  a3S- 
thetic  repose  and  the  subordination  of  minor  to 
principal  parts.  The  American  school  of  histori- 
cal painting  and  portraiture  has  a  respectable  par- 
entage in  Trumbull.  This  parentage  was  credit- 
ably supported  by  Sully  and  Peale,  particularly 
the  former,  whose  historical  painting  of  Washing- 
ton crossing  the  Delaware,  both  in  sentiment  and 
composition,  is  of  a  high  order  of  merit,  and  de- 
serves to  be  removed  from  its  present  exposed 
position  in  a  theatre,  to  a  national  gallery.  In 
view  of  much  of  what  has  been  done  since  in  this 
line,  it  may  justly  be  termed  a  masterpiece. 

Stuart's  manner  betrays  English  influence,  but 
of  the  better  character,  refined  into  a  delightful 
style  of  his  own.  Diaphanous,  rather  suggesting 
than  defining  outlines,  with  subtle  interblending 
and  gradation  of  tints,  he  evokes  the  soul  of  the 
sitter  and  brings  it  to  the  surface  of  his  canvas. 
In  liis  best  portraits,  without  weakening  the  ma- 
terialistic force  of  costume  or  external  feature,  he 
subdues  them  to  their  proper  secondary  positions. 
Add  to  this  dexterity  of  brush  his  grace  and 
purity,  and  we  perceive  that  the  estimation  in 
which  Stuart  is  held  by  cultivated  people  is  not 
above  his  deserts,  although  his  qualities  are  not 
such  as  now  most  command  the  popular  applause. 

Mount  deserves  mention  in  his  special  depart- 
ment of  "  genre^^^  for  the  cold  purity  of  his  style 
and  thoroughly  English  tone.  His  figures  are  well- 


204 


VANDERLYN, 


designed  and  expressive.  He  was  the  first  artist 
of  repute  of  our  school  in  this  direction. 

Vanderlyn's  reputation,  owing  to  the  scarcity 
of  his  works  accessible  to  our  public,  is  not  as 
high  as  it  deserves  to  be.  Unlike  the  painters 
before  named,  his  taste  and  predilections  were 
formed  by  the  French  classical  school.  This  is 
seen  in  his  Ariadne  in  the  gallery  of  the  Histor- 
ical Society,  New  York.  Time  has  dealt  harshly 
with  its  once  clear  shadows  and  aerial  perspective, 
and  the  delicate  flesh-tints  have  become  dry  and 
hot.  The  landscape  is  after  Domenichino's  arti- 
ficial manner.  Ariadne's  face  and  figure  are  not 
of  the  most  elevated  type,  but  the  treatment  is 
pure  and  delicate,  the  handling  broad  and  easy, 
the  modelling  carefully  studied  from  nature,  and 
the  entire  conception  free  from  affectation.  So 
far,  our  school,  in  the  nude,  has  done  nothing  to 
rival  it. 

Cole  was  the  father  of  landscape  art  in  America. 
In  aesthetic  feeling  and  intellectuality  he  takes 
rank  with  the  best  of  those  we  have  named.  The 
classic  school  of  Italy  was  his  chief  inspiration. 
That  he  greatly  admired  Claude  we  have  abun- 
dant evidence  in  the  treatment  of  his  own  land- 
scapes. But  as  his  was  a  broad  and  unconven- 
tional mind,  he  soon  emancipated  himself  from' 
anything  like  servility  of  manner,  and  formed  a 
distinct  style.  The  character  of  his  compositions 
is  ideal  and  intellectual.  Inclining  to  allegory, 
he  unites  to  poetical  feeling  a  picturesqueness  of 
conception  which  at  times  almost  attains  to  the 
lofty  and  great.    The  landscape  charms  him,  not 


COLE. 


205 


as  it  does  his  successors,  because  of  its  naked  ex- 
ternalism,  but  as  a  groundwork  of  his  art,  which 
he  is  to  quicken  with  human  associations,  or  dig- 
nify and  spirituaHze  by  the  subtle  power  of  the 
imagination.  Cole  is  greater  in  idea  than  action. 
Yet  in  the  latter  he  had  skill  enough  to  make 
the  reputation  of  a  lesser  man ;  though,  like  most 
artists  who  live  in  the  ideal,  he  was  unequal  in 
his  work.  We  have  seen  pictures  of  his,  partic- 
ularly a  view  on  the  Mediterranean,  glowing 
with  color,  warm,  translucent,  and  harmonious, 
simple  and  pure  in  composition,  and  imbued  with 
the  solemn  repose  of  nature  in  one  of  her  serener, 
sensuous  moments,  which  showed  what  he  was  ca- 
pable of  in  these  respects.  There  are  others,  like 
his  series  of  the  Course  of  Empire,  which,  be- 
sides being  exaggerated  in  parts  in  composition, 
surcharged  with  action,  and  scenic  in  effect,  are 
cold  and  inharmonious,  inclining  to  extremes  of 
paleness  and  thinness  in  color.  But  in  all  his 
work  we  find  the  artist  actuated  rather  by  a  lofty 
conception  of  the  value  of  art  as  a  teacher  than  by 
an  ambition  to  excel  in  mere  imitation.  With  him 
American  landscape  art  began  its  career  with  high 
motives.  Progress  in  this  direction  requires  no 
ordinary  degree  of  thought  and  imagination.  It 
is,  perhaps,  on  this  account  that  he  is  not  popularly 
estimated  at  his  right  value,  and  has  left  no  fol- 
lowers to  carry  forward  the  beautiful  significance 
and  lofty  suggestion  with  which  he  aimed  to  en- 
dow landscape  art. 

We  close  our  notice  of  early  American  painters 
with  Washington  AUston,  whose  training  was  also 


206 


ALLSTOJSr. 


European.  The  old  masters  of  Italy  were  his 
teachers.  Although  he  lived  some  time  in  Eng- 
land, its  art  exercised  no  influence  over  him.  Re- 
sisting the  inducements  of  patronage  and  the  ap- 
preciation of  noble  friends,  he  returned  to  his 
native  land,  and  there  devoted  himself  to  his  art. 
In  view  of  the  uncongenial  atmosphere  to  which 
he  exiled  himself,  this  was  a  Spartan  resolution. 
His  home  of  predilection  was  among  the  works 
of  Raphael,  Titian,  Correggio,  and  Michel  Angelo, 
whom  he  aspired  to  emulate,  and  with  whose  feel- 
ing he  was  deeply  imbued.  This  self-sacrifice  was, 
however,  of  real  advantage  to  that  section  of  the 
country  where  he  opened  his  studio.  It  im- 
planted and  kept  alive  an  aesthetic  sentiment  of 
a  high  character,  inspired,  doubtless,  more  by  an 
admiration  of  the  genial,  high-toned  virtues  of  the 
man  than  a  full  recognition  of  his  ideas  and  aims 
as  an  artist.  In  that  respect  his  life  was  neces- 
sarily much  that  of  a  recluse.  Boston  was  proud 
of  him,  but  gave  him  no  cheer  of  great  work. 
A  few  warm  friends,  fewer  orders :  these  were 
his  lot.  But  the  artistic  fire  was  too  deep  within 
him  to  be  put  out  even  by  the  aesthetic  chill  of 
New  England.  What  a  man  of  the  exquisite  im- 
pressibility of  Allston  must  have  felt  in  this  at- 
mosphere can  only  be  conjectured.  He,  however, 
nobly  stood  to  his  post ;  and  as  West  proved  that 
an  artist  could  arise  even  out  of  the  unpropitious 
blood  of  the  followers  of  Fox,  so  Allston  showed 
that  the  most  rigid  Puritan  land  could  not  always 
resist  the  art-faculty.  Under  the  circumstances, 
we  wonder  not  so  much  at  what  he  failed  in,  as 


ALLS  TON, 


207 


at  the  largeness  of  his  style  and  the  quality  of  his 
ambition.  His  rare  merits  tend  to  disarm  criti- 
cism. 

This  is  the  tendency  of  all  noble  effort.  But 
in  estimating  what  has  actually  been  done  in 
American  art,  its  defects  must  likewise  be  told. 
In  Allston's  case  they  were  inequality  of  execu- 
tion, imperfect  modelling  at  times,  not  infrequent 
bad  taste  in  details,  and  a  forcible  realism  of  feat- 
ures and  pose  in  some  of  his  greatest  figures, 
amounting  almost  to  awkwardness  and  ugliness. 
Beside  this,  like  most  colorists  by  temperament 
he  experimented  to  a  degree  that  has  proved  in- 
jurious to  the  permanent  transparency  and  brill- 
iancy of  most  of  his  pictures.  Their  subtlest 
qualities  are  now  gone  forever.  But,  though  fall- 
ing short  of  that  perfect  consummation  of  idea 
and  execution  which  makes  the  great  master,  he 
never  fails  to  hint  one. 

It  is  somewhat  strange  that  Allston,  who  gave 
up  wealth  and  distinction  abroad  to  love  of  coun- 
try, should  have  been  in  his  art  so  completely  for- 
eign in  feeling  and  motives.  There  is  not  a  trace 
of  American  influence  in  either.  His  subjects, 
including  his  landscapes,  were  almost  exclusively 
taken  from  Europe  and  the  literature  of  the  past, 
or  else  composed  under  the  overshadowing  in- 
fluences, generally  mixed,  of  the  great  masters  he 
had  copied  and  studied.  Yet  he  had  fine  native 
powers  of  composition  and  much  original  concep- 
tion. Perhaps,  if  he  had  lived  always  in  Italy, 
where  the  varied  degrees  and  qualities  of  excel- 
lence tend  in  the  end  to  neutralize  one  another 


208 


ALLSTON. 


in  the  student's  mind,  Allston  would  have  the 
sooner  emancipated  himself  from  extraneous  in- 
fluences, and  formed  an  independent  style  of  high 
character,  such  as  his  works  evidently  aim  at. 
But  the  early  studies  and  remembrance  of  those 
great  men  were  too  much  for  him  in  his  isolation 
from  all  intercourse  and  examples  of  an  inspirit- 
ing nature. 

With  landscape  Allston  had  less  sympathy  than 
with  the  human  figure.  The  range  of  his  mind, 
nevertheless,  was  genial,  wide,  and  lofty.  It 
was,  however,  chiefly  directed  towards  historical, 
illustrative,  and  religious  compositions  of  a  high 
intellectual  order.  He  seems  to  have  aimed  at 
combining  the  force  of  Michel  Angelo  with  the 
grace  of  Raphael  and  the  color  of  Titian.  Per- 
fect success  would  have  implied  the  perfect  artist, 
such  as  the  world  waits  to  see.  That  he  suggests 
these  masters  is  of  itself  a  noble  distinction.  We 
have  referred  to  the  strong  reahsm  of  some 
of  his  human  types.  In  others  there  is  a  be- 
witching idealism,  which  betokens  a  keen  sense 
of  the  beautiful.  For  examples  of  the  former, 
look  at  the  Magi  and  principal  figures  of  Bel- 
shazzar's  Feast,  the  greatest,  best  composed,  and 
most  difficult  painting  yet  attempted  by  an  Amer- 
ican artist,  though  so  greatly  misapprehended  by 
the  public,  owing  to  its  unfinished  condition  and  in- 
completed changes  of  figures,  which  leave  several 
in  the  guise  of  human  monsters.  Then  turn  to 
that  lovely  woman  with  the  turban,  gazing  so 
earnestly  at  Daniel.  Her  sweet,  pure  wonder- 
ment is  a  vision  of  grace,  that,  once  seen,  haunts 


ALLS  TON, 


209 


the  imagination.  The  prophet  is  good,  but  it  is 
a  repetition  of  Raphael's  St.  Paul  preaching  at 
Athens.  The  finished  accessories  of  this  picture 
are  painted  with  great  precision  and  skill.  Its 
action  is  intense,  varied,  and  expressive.  The 
color  is  rich,  subdued,  and  solemn ;  the  perspec- 
tive well  planned;  while  every  part  manifests 
matured  thought  and  power.  Completed  as  in- 
dicated in  details,  it  would  have  been  a  master- 
piece, marking  an  important  era  in  American  art. 

AUston's  figures  do  what  he  means  them  to  do. 
In  the  Valentine,  the  lady  reads;  she  is  wholly  at 
her  ease,  absorbed  in  her  occupation,  and  not  self- 
conscious,  or  desirous  of  attracting  the  spectator's 
eye,  as  a  common  artist  would  have  represented 
her.  In  other  respects  the  picture  is  much  deterio- 
rated, and  is  not  a  fair  example  of  his  capacity  as 
a  colorist.  His  Beatrice  is  weak  and  pale,  a  senti- 
mental nothmg.  Lorenzo  and  Jessica  is  Giorgio- 
nesque  in  conception  and  feeling,  but  its  colors 
have  irrevocably  sunk.  The  Sisters  is  a  lovely 
composition,  slightly  strained  to  recall  Titian's 
Daughter,  but  spirited,  graceful,  and  suggestive 
Its  silvery  flesh -tints  and  cool,  life-like  grays 
are  a  combination  of  Titian  and  Correggio.  Mi- 
riam is  a  grand  picture,  failing  unhappily  in  its 
vehicles  of  color,  but  in  idea  and  action  a  literal 
song  of  triumph.  Jeremiah  and  the  Scribe  Ba- 
ruch  is  still  in  fine  condition.  The  drapery  is  far 
from  faultless,  the  figure  is  heavy,  the  features 
have  no  supernatural  elevation,  and  the  compo- 
sition suggests  labored  thought,  though  as  a  whole 
it  is  impressive,  and  displays  a  master-hand  in  the 
U 


210 


OUR  EARLY  ARTISTS, 


dignified  breadth  of  treatment  and  facile  sweep  of 
brush. 

With  these  allusions  to  the  varied  qualities  of 
a  painter  who  may  be  said  to  represent  the  prom- 
ise rather  than  the  fulfilment  of  a  great  school  of 
painting,  we  shall  turn  in  the  next  chapter  to  the 
more  copious  topic  of  contemporary  art,  first  ask- 
ing the  reader  to  keep  in  mind  the  high  qualities 
of  the  artists  we  now  take  leave  of.  Note  well 
their  gentlemanly  repose,  quiet  dignity,  idealiza- 
tion, appreciation  of  thought  and  study,  and  ab- 
sence in  general  of  the  sensational,  exaggerated, 
vulgar,  and  superficial.  They  had  qualities  which 
ought  to  have  endeared  their  style  to  us  and 
made  it  take  root  and  grow.  But  there  were 
powerful  causes  of  a  political  nature  at  work  to 
strangle  its  life  in  its  youth.  It  is  gratifying  to 
know  that  the  American  school  of  painting  began 
its  career  with  refined  feeling  and  taste  and  an 
elevated  ambition,  basing  its  claims  to  success 
upon  high  aims  in  portraiture  and  historical  and 
imaginative  art.  It  evinced  not  much  love  for 
genre  or  common  subjects,  and  indulged  in  land- 
scape only  in  an  ideal  sense.  This  was  indeed 
a  lofty  inauguration  of  the  art -element,  and, 
considering  the  limited  number  of  artists  and 
inauspicious  condition  of  the  country,  one  fruitful 
in  fine  art.  Under  similar  circumstances  no  other 
people  can  show  a  better  record,  certainly  not  a 
brighter  beginning.  Why  it  failed  of  making  a 
permanent  impression  will  appear  as  we  go  on. 


CHAPTER  XY. 


The  New  School  of  American  Painting  contrasted  with  the 
Old.  — The  Dusseldorf  Element.  —  Edwin  White ;  Leutze.  — 
American  Pre-Raphaelites.  —  Italian  Influence.  —  Tilten ; 
Page;  Wight;  C.  G.  Thompson.  —  The  French- American 
Element. —  Genre  Artists.  —  Eastman  Johnson;  Hinckley; 
Beard;  Thorndike;  Dana;  Cole;  Hunt;  LaFarge;  Babcock. 
—  The  Academicians.  —  Gray ;  Huntington ;  Wier.  —  Por- 
traiture.— Elliot;  Healey;  Ames. — Landscapists. — Church; 
Bierstadt;  Kensett;  Gifford;  Cropsey;  Sontag;  Ginoux; 
Heade;  G.  L.  Brown;  Bradford;  Inness;  Darley;  Billings; 
Nast ;  Vedder.  —  Naturalism,  Realism,  and  Idealism  com- 
pared and  illustrated.  —  Summary. 

T  is  comparatively  easy  to  decide  upon  a 
completed  career,  for  the  evidence  is  all 
gathered  in.  But  in  treating  the  works 
of  living  men,  the  material  is  partial  and  incom- 
plete. Our  best  artists  have  scarcely  formed  their 
styles,  still  less  shown  the  full  measure  of  their 
talents.  New  names  come  forward  so  rapidly, 
exhibiting  much  that  is  meritorious,  that  it  is  per- 
plexing to  do  adequate  justice  to  all.  We  must 
confine  our  remarks  to  those  examples  our  notes 
afford. 

The  painters  described  in  the  preceding  chap- 
ter belonged  to  an  "  old  school,"  just  as  we  speak 
of  the  "  gentlemen  of  the  old  school "   The  semi- 


212         THE  DUSSELDORF  PICTURES. 

courtly  manners  of  our  more  polished  ancestors 
have  been  swept  away  in  the  flood  of  democratic 
habits  of  the  later  generation.  Their  art  partook 
of  the  aristocratic  colonial  element,  born  of  Euro- 
pean social  ideas.  But  to  the  masses  it  was  an  ex- 
otic. They  admired  it  as  they  did  fine  manners 
and  polite  learning.  America  was  then  as  much 
under  bondage  to  Europe  in  these  respects  as  she 
had  been  before  in  political  matters.  Herein  lies 
the  cause  of  the  failure  of  its  early  art  in  a  na- 
tional sense.  It  had  no  root  in  the  people.  They 
cared  for  none,  especially  one  antipathic  to  their 
instincts  and  reason.  No  art  can  long  live  which 
does  not  represent  the  actual  vitality  of  a  nation. 

Ours  has  attained  a  hopeful  position,  though  not 
a  perfectly  defined  one.  Immediately  after  the 
old  men  there  arose  a  generation  of  commonplace 
painters,  peculiarly  American  in  their  feelings  and 
aims.  These  were  Doughty,  Fisher,  and  their 
contemporaries, — names  fast  fading  from  memory, 
though  of  repute  in  their  time.  They  were  sin- 
cere and  earnest  artists,  materialistic  in  expres- 
sion, and  deserving  of  kindly  remembrance  as  the 
pioneers  of  what  has  since  been  developed  into  a 
distinct  school  of  American  landscape. 

The  Dusseldorf  gallery,  a  speculation  of  an  en- 
terprising German,  a  score  or  more  years  ago,  had 
ct  marked  influence  on  our  artists.  Its  historical, 
genre,  and  religious  pictures  were  new  and  strik- 
ing, while  their  positive  coloring,  dramatic  force, 
and  intelligible  motives  were  very  pleasurable  to 
spectators  in  general.  To  our  young  artists  they 
aflforded  useful  lessons  in  the  rudiments  of  paint- 


WHITE  AND  LEUTZE. 


213 


ing  and  composition.  They  were,  indeed,  of  nc 
higher  order  than  furniture  paintings,  being  me- 
chanical and  imitative  in  feature,  seldom  rising 
above  illustrative  art.  The  masterpiece,  Les- 
sing's  immense  Martyrdom  of  Huss,  is  only  a  fine 
specimen  of  scientific  scene-painting.  With  these 
pictures  there  came  a  popular  class  of  artists, 
trained  in  their  school,  and  ably  represented  by 
Edwin  White  and  Leutze.  White  has  good  taste, 
pure  sentiment,  industry,  and  a  correct  intellectual 
appreciation  of  his  historical  subjects.  There  is, 
however,  nothing  great  or  original  in  his  art, 
though,  as  a  whole,  it  is  truer  and  more  effective 
than  much  of  that  of  his  German  teachers,  owing 
perhaps  to  his  studies  in  Italy.  As  a  colorist  he 
decidedly  excels  them. 

Leutze  is  the  representative  painter  of  the  Amer- 
ican branch  of  this  school,  and  stands  the  liighest 
in  popular  esteem.  He  manifests  some  originality 
of  thought,  much  vigor,  overmuch  dramatic  force, 
and  has  abundance  of  executive  skill,  but  is  spas- 
modic and  unequal.  Tours  de  force  delight  him. 
He  has  the  vicious  coloring  of  the  Dusseldorf  school 
in  its  fullest  extent.  The  Rotunda  painting  in 
the  Capitol  of  the  Star  of  Empire  is  his  most 
ambitious  work.  This,  the  well-known  Washing- 
ton crossing  the  Delaware,  the  Storming  of  the 
Teocalli  at  Mexico,  and  the  portrait  of  General 
Burnside,  are  striking  examples  of  his  epic  style. 
Bad  taste  in  composition  overpowers  much  that  is 
meritorious  in  design  and  execution.  Leutze  is 
the  Forrest  of  our  painters.  Both  men  are  popu- 
lar from  their  bias  to  the  exacfffcrated  and  sensa- 


214      AMERICAN  PRE-RAPHAELITISM. 

tional,  cultivating  the  forcible,  common,  and  strik- 
ing, at  the  expense  of  the  higher  qualities  of  art. 

The  English  school  has  ceased  to  exercise  any 
influence  over  ours,  unless  a  crude  interpretation 
of  its  Pre-Raphaelitism  by  a  few  young  men  may 
be  considered  as  such.  Some,  like  Mr.  Richards 
and  his  followers,  show  decided  talent  in  imitative 
design,  and  are  earnest  in  their  narrow,  external 
treatment  of  nature.  We  do  not  believe,  how- 
ever, that  their  principles  and  manner  will  be- 
come firmly  rooted  here,  in  face  of  the  broader 
styles  and  more  comprehensive  ideas  of  another 
set  of  our  young  artists,  to  be  referred  to  in  their 
proper  place. 

There  is  as  little  affinity  between  the  art  of 
England  and  that  of  America  as  between  their 
politics.  Our  artists  rarely  go  to  London  to  study. 
If  they  do,  they  speedily  become  English,  or  else 
make  haste  to  leave  England  for  the  more  con- 
genial atmospheres  of  France  and  Italy.  Aside 
from  the  waning  popularity  of  the  Dusseldorf 
school,  these  two  countries  alone  exercise  any 
distinctive  influence  over  American  art.  But 
the  Italian  schools  are  too  much  of  the  past,  too 
exclusively  an  expression  of  classicalism  and 
mediaevalism,  to  give  a  positive  direction  to  ours. 
Their  lofty  principles,  noble  elements,  and  con- 
summate technical  skill,  must  make  them  always 
of  inestimable  value  to  appreciative  minds.  But 
their  most  seductive  influence  over  modern  art 
springs  from  the  solemn  splendor  and  deep  signifi- 
cance of  their  varied  systems  of  coloring.  Even 
in  this  respect  their  power  is  but  lightly  felt  here. 


TILT  EN. 


215 


To  comprehend  the  full  meaning  of  color,  and 
assimilate  its  joyous  dignity  or  sensuous  delight, 
it  requires  a  temperament  and  training  akin  to 
those  of  the  old  masters  themselves.  Few  Amer- 
icans develop  in  this  direction.  The  two  paint- 
ers who  have  most  studied  the  color-toning  of  the 
Venetians,  aiming  at  similar  results,  are  Tilten 
and  Page. 

Tilten  has  too  little  science  or  original  thought 
to  produce  anything  strikingly  new,  or  to  compre- 
hend the  great  principles  of  art  which  underlie 
the  works  of  those  he  seeks  to  rival.  Of  an 
impressible  and  ardent  temperament,  with  an  un- 
disciplined intellect,  he  reflects  similar  qualities 
in  his  landscapes.  When  not  borrowed  directly 
in  idea  from  Turner,  Claude,  or  others,  they  are 
studies  after  nature  of  considerable  merit  in  aerial 
perspective,  cloud -forms,  gradations,  and  tones, 
but  of  late  so  thinly  painted,  infused  and  false  in 
hue,  and  undefined  in  design,  as  to  seem  more 
like  the  ghosts  of  pictures  than  tangible  art.  If 
he  hits  upon  success  in  some  special  quality  of 
painting,  it  is  chance  skill,  not  scientific  law.  A 
weak  sentimentalist  in  color,  having  no  solid  foun- 
dation of  knowledge  or  inventive  force,  Tilten 
goes  backward  rather  than  forward,  thus  disap- 
pointing the  hopes  of  many  who  were  attracted 
to  him  .in  the  early  part  of  his  career  by  the  deli- 
cate sensuousness  of  his  style  and  apparent  prom- 
ise of  truthful  work. 

Page  is  a  man  of  larger  calibre,  but  of  a  simi- 
lar system  of  painting.  While  Tilten  dreams, 
Page  theorizes.    He  intellectually  tries  to  grasp 


216 


PAGE. 


the  old  masters,  and  to  absorb  them  into  styles  and 
ideas  of  his  own.  His  latest  manner  is  thin  and 
bituminous,  and  almost  destitute  of  other  design 
than  mere  suggestions  of  forms,  bones,  and  artic- 
ulations. Both  Page  and  Tilten  seek  effects  by 
artifices,  novelties,  and  experiments  of  the  brush, 
and  ambushes  of  studio.  Their  art,  seen  away 
from  certain  given  conditions,  is  as  unsatisfactory 
as  dissolving  visions.  Wanting  in  creative  thought, 
Page  plagiarizes  whole  compositions  from  the  old 
men.  We  do  not  know  an  original  composition 
of  his  of  any  moment.  Even  his  Venus  bears 
a  close  resemblance  to  that  of  the  Frenchman 
Peron.  It  is  sensuous  and  graceful  in  idea,  but 
bilious  in  color.  In  avoiding  the  meretricious  dain- 
tiness of  his  prototype,  he  has  fallen  into  a  repel- 
lent realism,  which  not  even  his  intense  dinginess 
of  hue  can  sufficiently  veil.  It  is  an  apotheosis  of 
the  animal  woman,  suggestive  of  sportive  wanton- 
ness and  conscious  seductiveness.  Seldom,  indeed, 
do  modern  painters  of  the  naked  woman  lift  her 
out  of  the  mire  of  the  sensual.  To  paint  a  good 
portrait  requires  a  master's  hand  ;  much  more 
the  entire  woman,  as  the  highest  type  of  divine 
creation,  morally,  intellectually,  and  physically. 
The  religion  of  the  pagans  demanded  this  of  art, 
and  theirs  was  equal  to  the  call.  But  the  religion 
and  taste  of  the  moderns  both  condemn  it.  Hence 
these  pictures  are  exceptional,  and  are  apt  to  ex- 
cite exceptionable  curiosity.  Being  experiments 
to  test  the  powers  of  the  artist,  they  should  be 
essayed  by  no  one  not  a  consummate  artist,  and 
holding  to  Ihe  highest  idealization  of  woman  in 


THE  AMERICAN  NUDE. 


2J7 


every  quality.  The  recent  attempts  of  Wiglit 
in  the  Sleeping  Beauty  and  Eve  at  the  Fountain, 
tliough  creditable  to  his  ambitiouj  are  injurious  to 
him  as  an  artist,  on  account  of  their  sensualism 
and  excess  of  surface-charms.  Tyros  in  the  hu- 
man figure  should  not  flush  their  virgin  brushes 
with  such  difficult  subjects.  Only  the  maturity  of 
power  of  a  Titian,  Bazzi,  or  Raphael,  can  elevate 
them  into  the  region  of  pure  art. 

But  to  return  to  Page.  There  is  much  in  him 
to  command  respect.  He  experiments  boldly  in 
pursuit  of  the  combined  splendor  and  purity  of 
Titian,  thinks  profoundly,  reasons  plausibly,  spec- 
ulates acutely,  and  always  essays  high  art.  Ever 
ready  to  confound  or  convince,  he  surprises,  de- 
lights, confuses,  and  disappoints  all  at  once.  Some 
of  his  portraits  exhibit  nice  discrimination  of 
character ;  while  his  ideal  art,  notwithstanding 
faults  of  grammar  and  much  want  of  good  taste, 
when  he  departs  from  direct  copying,  has  some- 
thing grand  in  suggestion,  showing  familiarity 
with  great  work.  A  great  artist  is  hidden  some- 
where, but  he  eludes  actual  discovery.  And  so 
far  as  Page  has  sought  to  translate  the  magnifi- 
cent Venetian  into  American  art,  he  has  failed. 

No  one  of  our  artists  has  brought  back  with 
him  from  Italy  a  more  thorough  knowledge  and 
appreciation  of  the  old  masters,  technically,  his- 
torically, and  aesthetically,  than  C.  G.  Thompson. 
He  conscientiously  endeavors  to  infuse  their  lofty 
feeling  and  motives  into  his  own  refined  manner. 
But  it  is  the  French  school  that  mainly  determines 
the  character  of  our  growing  art.    In  some  re- 


218 


NEW  YORK  SCHOOL. 


spects  New  York  is  only  an  outgrowth  of  Paris. 
Every  year  witnesses  a  marked  increase  of  the  in- 
fluence of  the  metropoUs  of  France  in  matters  of 
art,  taste,  and  fashion,  on  the  metropohtan  city  of 
America.  So  powerful,  indeed,  is  its  influence  m 
Europe,  that  the  hope  of  tlie  English  school  now 
lies  in  the  example  and  teaching  of  its  rival.  Ex- 
hibitions and  sales  of  fine  specimens  of  the  French 
school  have  already  vastly  benefited  us.  Owing 
to  the  concentration  of  our  most  promising  artists 
at  New  York,  it  has  grown  to  be  the  representa- 
tive city  of  America  in  art,  and  indeed  for  the 
present  so  overshadows  all  others  that  we  should 
be  justified  in  speaking  of  American  painting,  in 
its  present  stage,  as  the  New  York  school,  in  the 
same  light  that  the  school  of  Paris  represents  the 
art  of  France.  This  predominance  is  more  likely 
to  increase  than  decrease,  owing  to  growing  pro- 
fessional facilities  and  the  encouragement  derived 
from  a  lavish  patronage.  It  is  particularly  for- 
tunate for  the  American  school  that  it  must  com- 
pete at  its  own  door  with  the  French.  The  qual- 
ities of  French  art  are  those  most  needed  here,  in 
a  technical  point  of  view,  while  its  motives  and 
character  generally  are  congenial  to  our  tastes  and 
ideas.  The  Dusseldorf  was  an  accidental  importa- 
tion. That  of  Paris  is  drawn  naturally  to  us  by  the 
growth  of  our  own.  Were  the  French  school  what 
it  was  under  the  Bourbons,  or  the  Empire  even, 
conventional,  pseudo-classical,  sensual,  and  senti- 
mental, deeply  impregnated  with  the  vices  of  a  de- 
bauched aristocracy  and  revolutionary  fanaticism, 
we  should  have  been  less  inclined  towards  it  than 


DEMOCRACY  IN  ART.  219 


to  any  other.  But  it  crosses  the  Atlantic  refined, 
regenerated,  and  expanded  by  the  force  of  modern 
democratic  and  social  ideas.  The  art  of  France 
is  no  longer  one  of  the  church  or  aristocracy.  It 
is  fast  rooting  itself  in  the  hearts  and  heads  of  the 
people,  with  nature  as  its  teacher.  The  primary 
tendency  of  what  may  be  called  the  democratic 
art-instinct,  as  distinguished  from  that  founded  on 
the  ideas  of  an  aristocracy  of  blood,  is  to  materialis- 
tic expression.  This,  in  turn,  gravitates  toward  the 
animal,  sensational,  and  common,  from  a  disposition 
to  please  the  masses.  In  no  democratic  commu- 
nity, as  yet,  have  they  been  elevated  in  aesthetic 
refinement  and  taste  to  the  standard  of  the  aristo- 
cratic sentiment.  That  they  may  and  will  be,  we 
devoutly  believe.  To  this  end,  we  cannot  watch 
too  closely  the  training  of  our  youthful  school. 
In  art  as  well  as  literature  the  most  enduring 
things  and  endearing  are  those  which  best  inti- 
mate an  existence  above  the  level  of  the  worldly 
and  vulgar.  Next  in  value  is  that  which  elimi- 
nates from  man's  nature  the  coarse,  sensual,  and 
superficial,  substituting  the  beautiful,  good,  and 
permanent  in  their  stead.  Any  art  which  bases 
itself  upon  the  purer  instincts  of  humanity  at 
large,  such  as  a  healthful  enjoyment  of  nature, 
domestic  love,  and  the  sentiments  and  passions 
that  dignify  the  human  race,  holding  fast  the 
great  principle  of  elevating  the  entire  people  to 
the  full  stature  of  manhood,  —  such  an  art  is,  in 
virtue  of  its  birthright,  essentially  democratic. 
The  progress  of  French  art  being  in  this  direc- 
tion, it  is  the  natural  friend  and  instructor  of  Amer* 


220  ARISTOCRACY  IN  ART. 


ican  art ;  and,  while  it  remains  true  to  its  present 
renovating  principle,  we  cannot  have  too  much 
of  it.  If  our  art  relied  solely  on  its  own  intui- 
tive popular  instincts  for  its  development,  its  incli- 
nation would  be  too  much  toward  the  low  and 
common,  or  purely  external,  as  we  see  in  those 
artists  who  are  averse  to  studying  foreign  exam- 
ples. Their  proclivities  naturally  return  towards 
their  source,  in  the  vast  underlying  materialism 
of  the  present  stage  of  our  civilization.  France 
holds  a  check  over  democratic  vulgarity  which 
we  lack.  This  exists  in  the  standards  of  refine- 
ment, elegance,  and  finish,  the  perfection  of  styles 
and  details  as  fine  art,  which  an  aristocracy  accu- 
mulates as  evidence  of  its  intrinsic  superiority  of 
position  and  education.  We  have  the  reflected 
influence  of  this  in  the  works  and  pupils  of  the 
French  school.  Without  this  living,  refining  ele- 
ment, destitute  as  we  are  of  museums  and  galler- 
ies of  classical  and  mediaeval  art,  our  progress 
would  not  merely  be  less  rapid,  but  would  be 
mainly  in  a  direction  not  the  most  desirable. 

The  chief  evidence  of  the  growing  value  of 
the  French  school  to  ours  is  shown  in  the  devel- 
opment of  a  taste  for  something  beside  landscape. 
As  yet  we  borrow  motives  and  styles  somewhat 
lavishly,  and  put  them  into  American  types,  with 
a  moiety  only  of  French  skill  and  feeling.  In 
time,  imitation  will  weary  alike  the  painter  and 
buyer,  and  a  more  laudable  ambition  possess 
them.  Thanks  to  French  incitement,  the  dawn 
of  a  respectable  school  of  genre  and  home 
painting  is  nigh  at  hand.    We  say  "  home,"  be- 


BEARD. 


221 


cause  there  is  no  other  word  which  includes  so 
entirely,  to  the  Anglo-Saxon  ear,  all  those  feel- 
ings, sentiments,  and  ideas  which  have  their  ori- 
gin and  growth  under  the  family  roof  and  in 
social  training.  Its  motives  are  healthful,  aims 
excellent,  spirit  patriotic  ;  but  as  yet  the  flesh  is 
weak  to  execute.  Eastman  Johnson  and  Thom 
worthily  represent  this  branch.  Johnson  would 
be  a  greater  man,  if  he  could  be  taken  from  New 
York,  and  placed  where  he  could  be  stimulated 
by  the  competition  and  example  of  equal  or 
greater  abilities. 

Animal  life  is  almost  unrepresented.  Hinck- 
ley, with  the  worst  technical  faults  of  the  native 
American  school  thick  upon  his  brush,  has  but 
few  competitors  in  his  line.  Some  of  his  early 
pictures  were  clever,  but  he  has  done  nothing 
since  except  to  repeat  himself  in  thin  skins  of 
cattle,  with  no  more  vitality  in  them  than  in  ftie 
canvas  to  which  they  stick.  We  have  in  Beard, 
however,  fresh  from  the  Western  wilderness,  an 
artist  of  the  genuine  American  stamp,  of  decided 
originality  and  versatility.  He  paints  animals 
from  the  human  point  of  action,  passion,  and  sen- 
timent. With  him  humor  is  fine  wit.  He  has  an 
exquisite  sense  of  the  ludicrous  and  sensuous. 
His  brutes  are  four-legged  humanity.  In  his  own 
vein  he  has  no  equal.  He  paints  not  merely 
jokes,  but  ideas  vital  with  merry  thought  and 
healthful  absurdity,  so  that  his  pictures  mean 
something  beside  painting.  They  interest,  at 
first  glance,  from  their  freshness  and  novelty, 
and  draw  us  again  and  again  to  them  by  tlieii 


222 


DANA. 


subtle  meanings  and  cheery  moods.  The  most 
elaborate  and  best  pamted  of  his  quaint  composi- 
tions that  we  have  seen  is  a  March  of  Silenus, 
in  which  tipsy  bears  do  the  Bacchanalian  dance. 
The  Exchange  of  Compliments  between  the 
braying  donkey  and  the  cackling  geese  almost 
makes  one  hold  on  to  his  ears ;  while  the  J ealous 
Rabbit  embodies  in  the  form  of  the  timid  puss 
more  of  amorous  anger  and  ludicrous  surprise 
than  it  has  been  our  fortune  as  yet  to  see  put 
into  human  form  in  our  painting. 

The  instinct  of  our  best  colorists  lies  in  the 
blood,  though  the  development  and  training  is 
much  due  to  foreign  sources.  Dana,  Thorndike, 
Cole,  Hunt,  La  Farge,  and  Babcock  may  be 
mentioned  in  this  connection.  In  all  there  is  a 
warmth,  delicacy,  or  refinement  of  execution  and 
sentiment  seldom  excelled  anywhere.  Thorn- 
dike  is  so  thoroughly  French  in  style  and  motives 
that  his  pictures  need  naturalization  before  being 
popularly  welcomed  at  home.  Dana  is  full  of 
talent,  colors  attractively,  though  not  always  har- 
moniously, as  is  shown  by  his  most  ambitious 
picture,  Heart's-Ease,  which  neither  in  taste  nor 
treatment  is  equal  to  some  of  his  less  pretending 
works.  The  motives  of  his  compositions  are 
among  the  most  charming  of  genre  painting. 
Children  become  real  on  his  canvas,  in  their 
merry  games  or  pensive  moods.  He  has  a  tender 
sympathy  for  them,  for  animals,  and  for  whatever 
is  refined  and  beautiful.  But  he  has  the  fault 
common  to  most  American  painters.  Chiaroscuro 
is  neglected,  and  color  overpowers  design.  There 


HUNT. 


223 


is  more  show  than  substance  of  modellnig.  The 
touch  is  either  too  thin  or  too  heavy  and  clumsy, 
lacks  self-confidence,  decision,  and  precision.  The 
emphases  of  art,  those  pencil-strokes  which  betray 
the  master-hand,  being  of  exactly  the  right  quan- 
tity, quality,  degree,  and  fineness,  in  exactly  the 
right  place,  to  a  hair's-breadth,  are  yet  to  be  ac- 
quired by  many  of  our  best  young  painters. 

William  Hunt  is  one  of  those  who  are  over- 
inclined  to  disregard  force  of  design  for  subtil- 
ties  of  expression  and  color  ;  but  it  is  so  deliciously 
done,  and  with  so  tender  or  fascinating  sentiment, 
that  one  scarce  notes  the  deficiency  of  special 
artistic  virtue  in  the  attractiveness  of  the  whole 
picture.  We  perceive  that  he  is  feeling  for  great 
qualities,  and  so  overlook  any  transitory  failure 
of  lesser.  His  style  is  vaporous,  diaphanous, 
and  unpronounced  in  outline,  in  fact,  too  unsub- 
stantial, but  singularly  clear,  broad,  and  effective  ; 
nothing  little  or  forced,  though  sometimes  slight 
and  incomplete  in  details  of  modelling.  The 
sentiment  of  his  common  motives  is  sweetly 
musical  in  feeling,  because  of  delicate  harmo- 
nies of  color.  He  has  introduced  grace,  freedom 
of  action,  and  original  thought  into  his  portraits, 
establishing  for  himself  an  individuality  of  ex- 
pression and  treatment  as  distinctive  as  that  of 
Vandyke  or  Veronese.  There  are  draperies  of 
his  treated  after  a  manner  which  either  of  them 
might  call  his  own.  At  present  he  bestows  too 
much  labor  on  the  accessories  of  his  portraits, 
which  often  are  so  beautifully  executed  as  to 
distract  attention  from   the  principal  features. 


224 


J.  F.  COLE. 


French  influences  are  apparent  in  his  painting. 
The  Drummer- Boy  is  a  Parisian  gamin^  no  Yan- 
kee blood  in  him.  His  Bugle- Call  is  a  very  spir- 
ited phantom,  suggesting  characteristic  fire  and 
action.  Hunt  is  evidently  on  the  road  to  emi- 
nence, working  out  an  original  manner  exceed- 
ingly seductive  in  its  general  character,  but  has 
not  yet  given  the  full  measure  of  his  power,  or 
displayed  great  range  of  composition. 

J.  F.  Cole  gives  to  landscape  its  long-needed 
poetical,  sympathetical  elements,  expressed  chiefly 
in  delicate  gradations  of  color,  and  quiet,  slumber- 
ous distances,  indicative  of  the  mysterious  tender- 
ness and  repose  of  nature.  His  pictures  are  sweet 
melodies  and  pensive  poems,  as  welcome  as  the 
soft,  low  strains  of  dreamy  music,  or  the  quiet 
tones  of  a  much-loved  friend,  but  pitched  too 
much  on  one  key,  and  with  a  tendency  to  same- 
ness, and  want  of  local  emphasis  and  general 
vigor,  which  he  would  do  well  to  heed  in  the 
beginning  of  a  promising  career. 

The  prophecy  of  a  great  colorist  and  a  profound 
artist  of  deep  rehgious  feeling,  of  a  tone  inclining 
to  spiritual  melancholy,  and  of  a  rare  and  pecu- 
liar sensibility,  intensified,  perhaps,  by  influences 
outside  of  art,  strictly  speaking,  is  rapidly  unfold- 
ing in  La  Farge.  Of  a  wealthy  New  York  fam- 
ily. La  Farge  goes  to  art  with  earnest  devotion 
and  an  ambition  for  its  highest  walks,  bring- 
ing to  the  American  school  depth  of  feeling,  sub- 
tility  of  perception,  and  a  magnificent  tone  of 
coloring,  united  to  a  fervid  imagination  which 
bestows  upon  the  humblest  object  a  portion  of 


LA  FAROE. 


225 


his  inmost  life.  These  qualities  are  rare  and 
remarkable  anywhere,  but  particularly  so  in 
America.  He  evokes  the  essences  of  things, 
draws  out  their  soul-life,  endowing  them  with  an 
almost  superhuman  consciousness.  The  solemn 
splendor  and  interpenetrative  power  of  his  free, 
unconventional  manner,  with  its  spiritual  sugges- 
tiveness  of  hues,  seize  upon  the  imagination  and 
bind  it  firmly  to  his  art,  through  sentiments  that 
act  more  directly  upon  the  heart  than  the  head. 
His  forms  are  massed  and  hinted  in  an  effective 
manner,  instead  of  being  sharply  outlined  and 
elaborated  as  is  the  art  of  the  realists.  But  La 
Farge's,  although  devoid  of  much  that  the  Pre- 
Kaphaelites  insist  on  as  the  exact,  rigid  truth  of 
nature,  as  seen  with  microscopic  eye,  is  truer  to 
the  consciousness  of  his  topics  in  the  whole.  His 
landscapes  are  gems  of  imaginative  suggestion 
and  delicate,  vital  treatment,  not  pantheistic  in 
sentiment,  although  the  soul  of  nature  breathes 
in  them.  They  interpret  nature  to  us  as  sentient, 
sensible,  not  sensuous,  but  spiritually  beautiful, 
—  the  Christian  idea  of  one  God  manifest  in  the 
universe,  contrasted  with  the  Pagan  invention  of 
gods  many.  He  takes  up  the  spirit  of  the  land- 
scape where  Turner  left  off,  and  infuses  it  with  a 
wonderful  vital  quality,  making  it  a  living  thing 
akin  to  man,  or  uniting  it  and  the  spectator  into 
one  common  sentiment  of  childhood  to  the  Fa- 
ther, bestowing  upon  it  human  moods  of  inspira- 
tional fervor  and  intenseness,  such  as  we  have 
seen  in  no  other  American  artist.  This  treat- 
ment is  as  remote  from  the  Greek  idea  on  the 
15 


226 


LA  FAROE. 


one  hand,  as  it  is  from  the  ascetic,  spiritual  con- 
ception of  the  mediaevahsts  on  the  other.  It  is  a 
fresh  truth  given  to  landscape  art,  and,  if  per- 
fected, destined  to  win  for  it  a  holy  distinction, 
and  endearment  in  human  hearts. 

A  flower  of  his  has  no  botanic  talk  or  display 
of  dry  learning,  but  is  burning  with  love,  beauty, 
and  sympathy,  an  earnest  gift  of  the  Creator, 
fragrant  and  flexible,  bowed  in  tender  sweetness 
and  uplifted  in  stately  pride,  a  flower  whose  seed 
comes  from  Eden,  and  which  has  not  yet  learned 
worldly  ways  and  deformities.  Out  of  the  depth 
and  completeness  of  his  art-thought,  by  a  few  dar- 
ing, luminous  sweeps  of  his  brush  he  creates  the 
universal  flower,  the  type  of  its  highest  possibili- 
ties of  beauty  and  meaning,  using  color  not  as 
fact,  but  as  moods  of  feeling  and  imagination, 
having  the  force  of  passion  without  its  taint. 
Such  are  his  Wreath  of  Violets,  the  Rose-mal- 
low, Lilies,  and  other  evidences  of  his  genius  in 
unpretending  motives,  all  of  them  suggesting  ca- 
pacity for  greater  themes. 

Though  of  Puritan  stock,  not  one  element  of  it 
is  perceptible  in  William  Babcock's  art.  Paris 
has  taken  him  to  herself.  Nevertheless,  ,  his  indi- 
viduality is  of  marked  character.  His  sense  of 
color  is  derived  from  no  extraneous  source,  but 
is  an  infusion  direct  from  original  life.  It  is 
a  madness,  a  wild  passion,  a  splendid  frenzy; 
Babcock  is  color-drunk.  It  would  be  hasty  to 
say  that  he  cannot  draw  or  model,  but  he  will 
not  heed  design  while  the  fury  of  color  is  upon 
him.    For  him  there  are  no  cold  tmts  in  nature ; 


BAB  COCK. 


227 


no  clear,  hard  skies,  sharply  defined  outlines, 
high  lights,  dull  browns,  chalky  whites,  chilling 
grays,  or  leaden  hues  ;  none  of  the  atmospherical 
gloom  and  other  common  characteristics  of  the 
American  eye  in  painting.  Neither  is  there  a 
metallic  glare  or  staring  opacity  to  his  pictures, 
nor  positive,  prismatic,  spotty  discord,  or  strain- 
ing after  the  eye-offending  crudities  of  pseudo- 
colorists.  But  he  revels  in  his  own  magnificent 
sensuousness,  as  indifferent  to  the  opinions  of  com- 
mon mortals  as  Jupiter  at  an  Olympian  banquet. 
Rich-toned  ultramarines,  purples,  oranges,  crim- 
sons, and  violets  blaze  in  his  skies,  deepen  his 
vegetation,  and  glow  upon  his  figures  with  the 
consuming  fervor  of  an  Oriental's  dream  of 
voluptuous  languor,  or  his  vision  of  a  flesh-en- 
tranced paradise.  This  fanaticism  of  color  is  no 
superficial  charm.  At  will,  it  is  transparent, 
harmonious,  majestic,  tender,  and  sensuous.  By 
his  magic  wealth  of  brush  he  transmutes  the 
common  air  and  world  into  a  new  earth  and 
heavens.  The  first  glimpse  of  the  spectacle  is  so 
captivating  to  the  sensitive  eye  that  it  throws  a 
glamour  over  the  senses  and  stirs  the  heart  to 
wild  beats,  like  strains  of  Beethoven.  But  this 
is  all.  His  delight  in  childhood  is  tender,  sen- 
suous, and  pagan ;  in  womanhood,  voluptuous, 
though  not  vulgar.  He  aims  to  give  the  charm 
of  warm,  pearly,  elastic  flesh,  ripe  surface-beauty. 
The  feeling  of  his  inspiration  is  essentially  pan- 
theistic. His  little  ones  are  amorini  or  loves, 
sometimes  naked,  sometimes  clad  in  artistic  cos- 
tumes of  his  own  fashioning.    He  seems  to  scorn 


228 


BAB  COCK. 


men,  because  not  offering  those  corporeal  quali- 
ties he  pants  for.  We  seldom  find  them  in  his 
pictures.  The  types  of  his  figures,  so  far  as 
the  drawing  goes,  is  often  common,  if  not  worse. 
Evidently,  his  idealism  is  exhausted  on  pigments, 
and  he  is  gifted  with  no  grace  of  design,  though 
showing  no  little  taste  and  spirit  in  composition. 
One  views  his  works  with  mingled  regret  and 
admiration.  Unless  the  chaotic  feeling  and  force 
he  displays  be  reduced  to  artistic  order,  notliing 
absolutely  great  and  good  will  arise  out  of  them, 
but,  as  with  Poe,  we  shall  have  to  mourn  over 
the  quenched  fire  of  a  real  poet. 

Having  shown  the  various  foreign  elements 
that  influence  American  painting,  we  now  turn  to 
its  more  indigenous  phases.  The  conventional  or 
academic  branch  has  nothing  very  distinctively 
local  in  tone,  original  in  conception,  or  distin- 
guished in  feature.  Like  its  fellows  everywhere, 
it  is  eclectic  by  principle,  deriving  its  instruction 
from  older  schools,  and  assimilating,  as  well  as 
possible,  the  scientific  learning  of  art.  It  has 
developed  clever  men,  but  they  have  too  much 
the  character  of  artists  made  to  order.  An 
academy,  as  commonly  conducted,  is  too  literally 
a  pedantic  school.  It  trains  many  minds  of  aver- 
age abilities  into  certain  styles,  with  an  amiable 
indifference  as  to  what  they  paint,  so  that  they 
please  patrons  and  grow  famous.  In  undergoing 
this  sort  of  discipline,  individualism  must  be 
sturdy  not  to  sink  into  conventionalism,  and  ac- 
credit the  grammar  of  art  as  of  more  value  than 
its  spirit.     Artists  educated  after  this  manner 


THE  ACADEMICIANS. 


229 


never  wholly  free  themselves  from  the  bondage 
of  an  imposed  style  and  outside  dictation.  The 
picture  is  the  chief  aim.  It  comes  to  be  with 
them  as  with  a  certain  class  of  literary  men: 
elegance  of  expression  takes  precedence  of  origi- 
nality of  idea.  Each  phrase  is  composed  by  rhe- 
torical rule,  and  marshalled  into  place  by  bugle- 
call.  The  painting  of  France  flourishes,  because 
it  is  the  free  growth  of  studios  and  nature.  In- 
dividual genius  has  liberty  of  choice  and  nutri- 
ment. Democracy  favors  the  system  of  free  com- 
petition. Aristocracies  found  academies,  and  seek 
to  bind  art  down  to  rule,  or  guide  it  by  favoritism 
and  patronage.  America  is  too  democratic  to  yield 
up  hers  solely  to  such  guidance.  The  academic 
influence  is  already  undermined.  In  future,  it  will 
have  little  weight  either  with  the  intelligent  public 
or  young  artists ;  for  it  has  small  cohesive  force, 
and  no  strong  outside  pressure,  as  in  England,  to 
give  it  strength  of  resistance.  So  far  as  it  affords 
facilities  of  elementary  instruction,  keeps  alive  the 
traditions  of  art,  collects,  preserves,  and  dissem- 
inates knowledge,  and  promotes  a  more  intimate 
union  between  artists  and  the  public,  it  is  useful. 
But  the  inherent  tendency  of  an  academy,  under 
present  forms  of  organization,  is  to  exclusivism, 
dictation,  and  narrowness.  A  few  are  petted  ;  the 
many  pine.  In  the  end.  New  York  will  boast 
one  more  handsome  building  in  its  Academy  of 
Design,  controlled  by  a  dilettante  clique,  —  of 
qualified  benefit,  but  having  no  life-giving  control 
over  the  young  democratic  art  of  the  land. 

Durand,  Gray,  Wier,  and  Huntington  are  rep- 


230 


PORTRAITURE. 


resentative  artists  of  academic  training.  The  re- 
finement and  high-bred  tone  of  the  last-named 
painter  are  very  winning.  In  general,  the  acad- 
emicians proper  exhibit  considerable  skill  of 
manipulation  and  detail,  facility  of  composition, 
and  those  composite  qualities  which  make  up  an 
accomplished  rather  than  an  original  man.  No 
great  men  are  to  be  looked  for  in  this  quarter ; 
for  greatness  would  be  at  war  at  once  with  its 
system  of  routine  and  conventionalism,  and  con- 
sequently would  not  be  tolerated. 

The  common  portraiture  of  the  day  is  far 
from  being  a  lineal  descendant  of  our  early  art. 
It  is  less  refined,  heavier  and  darker  in  color, 
more  materialistic  in  technical  treatment  and 
realistic  in  expression.  Elliot  is  the  chief  expo- 
nent of  the  new  style.  He  has  a  Salvatoresque 
touch  of  brush,  and  brings  forth  the  coarser  ele- 
ments of  his  sitters.  Healey  has  done  good 
things  in  historical  composition,  and  forcible  things 
in  portraiture.  He  has  much  talent,  but  is  de- 
ficient in  the  language  of  color.  Ames  is  the 
reverse,  when  he  takes  time  to  finish.  He  has  a 
delicate  fancy  for  color,  composes  in  it,  and  has 
produced  many  good  portraits.  By  nature  he  is 
an  idealist,  with  considerable  poetical  ability, 
but  does  not  give  that  attention  to  design  and 
solid  painting  which  complete  art  demands.  And 
here  let  us  remark,  as  a  qualifying  statement  due 
to  the  reputation  of  many,  that  the  exigencies  of 
life  and  sitters  force  them  frequently  to  hasty  and 
superficial  work,  which  their  knowledge  condemns. 
This  is  a  mistake.    Whatever  is  worth  doing  is 


OUR  LANDSCAPE  ART.  231 


worthy  of  best  work,  and  would  ultimately  com- 
mand a  suitable  return ;  whereas  the  opposite 
course  encourages  weakness  and  superficiality,  or 
tempts  to  sensational  experiments. 

The  thoroughly  American  branch  of  painting, 
based  upon  the  facts  and  tastes  of  the  country 
and  people,  is  the  landscape.  It  surpasses  all 
others  in  popular  favor,  and  may  be  said  to  have 
reached  the  dignity  of  a  distinct  school.  Almost 
everybody  whose  ambition  leads  him  to  the 
brush  essays  landscape.  To  such  an  extent  is 
literalness  carried,  that  the  majority  of  works 
are  quite  divested  of  human  association.  "  No 
admittance"  for  the  spirit  of  man  is  written 
all  over  them.  Like  the  Ancient  Mariner's 
"painted  ship  upon  a  painted  ocean,"  they  both 
pall  and  appall  the  senses.  Their  barrenness  of 
thought  and  feeling  become  inexpressibly  weari- 
some after  the  first  shock  of  rude  or  bewildering 
surprise  at  overstrained  atmospherical  effects,  mo- 
notonous in  motive,  however  dramatically  varied 
in  execution.  The  highest  aim  of  the  greater 
number  of  the  landscapists  seemingly  is  intense 
gradations  of  skies  and  violent  contrasts  of  posi- 
tive color.  The  result  is  destructive  of  any  sug- 
gestion of  the  variety  and  mystery  of  nature. 
We  get  coarse  paintings,  pitched  on  a  wrong 
key  of  light  or  color,  hastily  got  up  for  a  mar- 
ket, and  sold  by  scores,  often  all  by  one  hand, 
at  cheap  auction-sales.  The  more  common  feat- 
ures of  nature  are  so  easily  given  on  canvas  as 
they  appear  to  the  undiscerning  eye  that  the 
public  is  dehiged  with  a  sort  of  trash-literature 


232 


OUR  LANDSCAPE  ART, 


of  the  brush,  which  ought  to  be  consigned  to  ob- 
livion so  far  as  it  attempts  to  pass  itself  off  for 
true  art. 

Furthermore,  we  are  undergoing  a  virulent 
epidemic  of  sunsets.  Despite  that  one  of  our 
transcendental  painters  says  there  can  be  no  great 
work  without  the  three  fundamental  qualities  of 
"  rest,  repose,  and  tranquillity,"  our  bias  is  rather 
in  the  direction  of  exaggerated  action  and  effects. 
In  accordance  with  his  scale  of  definition,  he 
might  have  added  three  others  much  in  vogue, 
namely,  "  bigness,  greatness,  largeness,"  culminat- 
ing in  what  an  artist  wittily  calls  full-length 
landscapes.  To  be  added  to  these  foibles  are 
slipshod  work,  repetition,  impatient  execution, 
and  an  undue  self-estimate,  arising  from  want 
of  competitive  comparison  with  better-instructed 
men.  Numbers  of  pictures  seem  painted  for  no 
other  purpose  than  to  display  the  painter's  auto- 
graph. We  have  noticed  this  even  in  portraits, 
the  artist's  name  being  more  conspicuous  than  the 
sitter's  features.  Thus  much  for  the  weaknesses 
of  our  landscape  art.    Now  for  its  strong  points. 

Church  leads  or  misleads  the  way,  according 
as  the  taste  prefers  the  idealistic  or  realistic  plane 
of  art.  Certain  is  it  that  Church  has  achieved 
a  great  popular  success  in  his  tropical  scenery, 
icebergs,  and  Niagaras,  —  success  which  brings 
him  orders  for  pictures  as  fast  as  he  can  produce 
them,  at  prices  heretofore  fabulous  in  his  branch 
of  art.  Dr.  Johnson  says  he  who  writes  other- 
wise than  for  money  is  a  fool.  For  "  writes " 
read  "  paints,"  and  we  get  a  primary  motive-power 


CHURCH. 


233 


for  any  school  of  artists.  Not  tliat  true  artistic 
ambition  does  not  here  exist,  but  a  sudden  suc- 
cess, measured  by  pecuniary  gain  and  sensational 
effect,  is  not  the  most  wholesome  stimulant  for 
youthful  art. 

No  one,  hereafter,  may  be  expected  to  excel 
Church  in  the  brilliant  qualities  of  his  style. 
Who  can  rival  his  wonderful  memory  of  details, 
vivid  perception  of  color,  quick,  sparkling,  though 
monotonous  touch,  and  iridescent  effects,  dexterous 
manipulation,  magical  jugglery  of  tint  and  com- 
position, picturesque  arrangements  of  material 
facts,  and  general  cleverness?  With  him  color 
is  an  Arabian  Nights'  Entertainment,  a  pyrotech- 
nic display,  brilliantly  enchanting  on  first  view, 
but  leaving  no  permanent  satisfaction  to  the 
mind,  as  all  things  fail  to  do  which  delight  more 
in  astonishing  than  instructing.  Church's  pict- 
ures have  no  reserved  power  of  suggestion,  but 
expend  their  force  in  coup-de-main  effects.  Hence 
it  is  that  spectators  are  so  loud  in  their  exclama- 
tions of  delight.  Felicitous  and  novel  in  compo- 
sition, lively  in  details,  experimentive,  reflecting 
in  his  pictures  many  of  the  qualities  of  the  Amer- 
ican mind,  notwithstanding  a  certain  falseness  of 
character.  Church  will  long  continue  the  favorite 
with  a  large  class. 

But  a  competitor  for  the  popular  favor  in  the 
same  direction  has  appeared  in  Bierstadt.  He 
has  selected  the  Rocky  Mountains  and  Western 
prairies  for  his  artistic  field.  Both  these  men 
are  as  laborious  as  they  are  ambitious,  regarding 
neither  personal  exposure  nor  expense  in  their 


234 


BIERSTADT. 


distant  fields  of  study.  Each  composes  his  pict- 
ures from  actual  sketches,  with  the  desire  to  ren- 
der the  general  truths  and  spirit  of  the  localities 
of  their  landscapes,  though  often  departing  from 
the  literal  features  of  the  view.  With  singular 
inconsistency  of  mind  they  idealize  in  composition 
and  materialize  in  execution,  so  that,  though  the 
details  of  the  scenery  are  substantially  correct,  the 
scene  as  a  whole  often  is  false.  Neither  manifests 
any  grand  conception  of  nature,  nor  appreciation 
of  its  poetry.  Graphic  beauty  of  composition  and 
illustration  are  their  chief  points.  Bierstadt  uses 
the  landscape  also  to  illustrate  Indian  life.  His 
figures  are  picturesquely  grouped,  prosaically  true 
to  actual  life,  giving  additional  interest  to  most 
observers,  though  rendering  his  great  work,  the 
Eocky  Mountains,  confused,  and  detracting  from 
its  principal  features,  beside  making  it  liable  to  the 
artistic  objection  of  two  pictures  in  one,  from 
different  points  of  view.  We  form  our  estimate 
of  him  from  this  picture.  It  is  to  be  welcomed, 
because  it  recalls  one  from  the  delusive  enchant- 
ments of  the  Church  style  to  a  more  strictly 
scientific  expression  of  nature.  Titian  and  Cor- 
reggio  in  their  backgrounds  give  us  the  highest 
qualities  of  the  landscape,  by  a  broad  and  noble 
suggestion  of  its  forms,  in  tone  and  meaning  sub- 
ordinated to  their  chief  motive.  But  this  grandly 
simple  treatment  finds  few  friends  in  America.  Its 
practical  life  demands  absolute  truth  of  represen- 
tation. In  many  respects  Bierstadt  has  been  very 
successful.  If  he  has  no  liking  for  the  broad,  im- 
aginative treatment  of  Titian,  neither  has  he  any 


B TEES  TAD  T. 


235 


more  for  the  conventional  lifelessness  of  the  me- 
chanical Dusseldorf  school.  He  seeks  to  depict 
the  absolute  qualities  and  forms  of  things.  The 
botanist  and  geologist  can  find  work  in  his  rocks 
and  vegetation.  He  seizes  upon  natural  phenom- 
ena with  naturalistic  eyes.  In  the  quality  of  Amer- 
ican light,  clear,  transparent,  and  sharp  in  outlines, 
he  is  unsurpassed.  Cloud-shadows  flit  and  play 
over  sunlit  hills  and  distant  snow-peaks,  rising 
clear  and  cold  against  the  lofty  horizon,  with 
truthful  effect.  But  his  light  is  pitched  on  too 
high  a  key,  which  leaves  his  color  cold  and  glar- 
ing, and  produces  overmuch  transparency  of  at- 
mosphere, whereby  distances  are  in  some  degree 
confused  and  deceptive.  As  a  colorist,  Bierstadt 
appears  to  better  advantage  in  his  Sunshine  and 
Shadow,  a  reminiscence  of  the  Rhine.  On  the 
whole,  however,  he  has  well  depicted  the  silvery 
clearness  and  translucency  of  the  mountain-air  of 
the  West,  and  managed  to  avoid  the  prominent 
defects  of  the  school  in  general.  At  the  same 
time,  we  must  confess  that  our  taste  has  but  tran- 
sient sympathy  with  its  hard-featured  rationalism, 
no  matter  to  what  degree  it  compels  admiration 
of  its  executive  qualities. 

Kensett  is  more  refined  in  sentiment,  and  has 
an  exquisite  delicacy  of  pencil.  He  is  the  Bryant 
of  our  painters,  —  a  little  sad  and  monotonous,  but 
sweet,  artistic,  and  unaffected.  In  his  later  pict- 
ures there  is  a  phantom-like  lightness  and  cold- 
ness of  touch  and  tint,  which  give  them  a  some- 
what unreal  aspect.  But  they  take  all  the  more 
hold  on  the  fancy  for  their  lyrical  qualities. 


236 


GIFFORD. 


Gifford  has  an  opulent  sense  of  color,  but  its 
tone  is  artificial  and  strained,  often  of  a  lively  or 
deep  brimstone  tint,  as  if  he  saw  the  landscape 
through  stained  glass.  His  touch  is  vigorous,  his 
design  more  forcible  than  accurate,  and  his  style, 
as  a  whole,  conventional  and  untrue,  but  mani- 
festing qualities  attractive  to  those  who,  having 
outgrown  the  merely  mechanical  and  literal,  have 
not  yet  familiarized  their  minds  with  the  highest 
aims  and  efforts  of  art. 

Cropsey,  Sontag,  Ginoux,  Heade,  and  G.  L. 
Brown  are  names  also  in  good  standing  as  Amer- 
ican landscapists,  of  something  more  than  local 
reputation.  All  are  realistic  to  a  disagreeable 
degree,  Heade  only  by  color  affording  any  sen- 
suous gratification  or  relief  from  the  dreary, 
mechanical  intellectuality  of  the  others.  His 
speciality  is  meadows  and  coast-views,  in  weari- 
some horizontal  lines  and  perspective,  with  a  pro- 
fuse supply  of  hay-ricks  to  vary  the  monotony 
of  flatness,  but  flooded  with  rich  sun-glow  and 
sense  of  summer  warmth.  Sontag  and  Ginoux 
are  dexterous  in  the  forms  and  composition  of 
American  scenery,  delighting  in  the  wildly  pictu- 
resque, catching  its  spirit  in  that  respect,  but  pain- 
fully disappointing  from  their  insensibility  to  low 
tones  and  harmonies  of  coloring.  The  extreme 
delicacy  and  poetical  feeling  of  Kensett's  style  al- 
most make  one  forget  his  weakness  of  tint ;  but  in 
the  artists  now  under  review  their  deficiency  of  im- 
agination and  profuse  employment  of  cold  pigments 
are  absolutely  disagreeable,  while  their  scale  of 
light,  false  to  art,  in  its  futile  attempt  to  rival  na- 


G.  L.  BROWN, 


237 


ture  by  the  lavish  use  of  white-lead,  renders  their 
coloring  dry,  spotty,  and  glaring,  disclosing  details 
in  design  akin  to  the  rude  emphases  and  conven- 
tionalisms of  Salvator  Rosa's  brush.  But  barren 
of  ideas  and  vicious  in  manner  as  is  their  style, 
it  is  fine  art  as  compared  with  the  average  pro- 
ductions of  G.  L.  Brown.  His  is  pictorial  slop- 
work ;  crude  tints,  hot,  staring,  and  discordant, 
loaded  on  the  canvas  with  the  profligate  palette- 
knife  dash  of  a  Rembrandt,  without  the  genius 
that  transformed  his  seeming  recklessness  into  con- 
summate art.  Brown  having  been  educated  under 
the  influences  of  the  best  schools,  his  knowledge 
of  drawing  and  composition  is  of  no  inferior  order. 
Yet  the  American  taint  of  hasty,  sensational  work 
is  so  strong  upon  him  that  he  degrades  his  talents 
into  a  vulgar  style,  crowded  with  trickeries,  and 
no  more  resembling  high  art  than  a  speech  of 
Parson  Brownlow  is  like  an  oration  of  Wendell 
Phillips. 

We  are  almost  tempted  to  withdraw  Ginoux 
from  this  connection  as  showing  the  extravagant 
and  false  tendency  of  one  section  of  our  landscape 
art,  on  the  strength  of  his  Niagara  by  Moonlight. 
Although  painted  after  his  usual  manner,  it 
gives  a  fair  realistic  suggestion  of  the  flow  and 
force  of  the  cataract,  under  the  mysterious  con- 
ditions of  a  clouded  moonlight,  which  greatly 
heightens  the  effect  of  the  whole  scene,  and  bap- 
tizes it  with  the  spirit  of  the  imaginative  unreal, 
making  it  the  opposite  of  Church's  Niagara  by 
Sunlight,  whose  sole  suggestion  is  of  mathematical 
quantity,  space,  depth,  rapidity,  and  fall,  with  ac- 
curately imitated  tint. 


238       PROMINENT  CHARACTERISTICS. 


Bradford  has  made  a  decided  advance  in  the 
forms  and  motions  of  waves.  He  has  put  move- 
ment into  the  ocean,  and  swept  its  surface  with 
gales.  Some  of  his  colored  and  India-ink  sketches 
of  shore-scenery  are  fine  bits  of  realistic  study ; 
but  in  painting  he  gets  metallic  and  hard,  and 
keeps  repeating  himself. 

The  prominent  characteristics  of  the  American 
landscape  school  are  its  realism,  vigor,  enterprise, 
and  freshness.  Partaking  of  the  spirit  of  our  peo- 
ple, it  is  dexterous,  quick  to  seize  upon  new  points, 
intellectual,  and  mechanical,  viewing  nature  rarely 
in  other  than  external  and  picturesque  aspects, 
and  little  given  to  poetry  or  ideas.  Aspiring  to 
the  natural  only  in  motive,  it  looks  as  earnestly 
to  the  practical  in  result.  If  it  be  deceptive,  it 
is  so  only  as  trade  is,  from  ambition  of  success  and 
fervor  of  competition.  Partaking  of  the  enter- 
prise of  commerce,  it  sends  its  sons  to  Brazil,  to 
the  Amazon,  to  the  Andes,  beyond  the  Pocky 
Mountains ;  it  orders  them  in  pursuit  of  icebergs 
off  frozen  Labrador;  it  pauses  at  no  difficulties, 
distance,  expense,  or  hardship  in  its  search  of  the 
new  and  striking.  The  speculating  blood  infuses 
itself  into  art.  Within  proper  limits,  the  zest  of 
gain  is  healthful ;  but  if  pushed  to  excess,  it  will 
reduce  art  to  the  level  of  trade. 

But  landscape  does  not  wholly  go  in  this  direc- 
tion. Inness  is  a  representative  man  of  an  alto- 
gether different  aspect.  He  influences  art  strong- 
ly in  its  imaginative  qualities  and  feeling ;  imper- 
sonating in  his  compositions  his  own  mental 
conditions,  at  times  with  a  poetical  fervor  and 


INNESS. 


239 


depth  of  thought  that  rises  to  the  height  of  gen- 
ius, and  at  others  with  a  chaotic  wildness  and 
disregard  of  law  or  fact,  though  never  without  a 
disclosure  of  original  power,  that  causes  one  to 
pause  before  deciding  upon  his  final  position. 
Wildly  unequal  and  eccentric  as  he  is,  reckless- 
ly experimentive,  indulging  in  sameness  of  ideas,  ♦ 
often  destroying  good  work  by  bad,  lawless  in 
manner,  using  pigments  sometimes  as  though  they 
were  mortar  and  he  a  plasterer,  still  there  is  ever 
perceptible  in  his  works  imagination,  feeling,  and 
technical  instinct  of  a  high  order,  wliich  need 
only  the  balancing  power  of  experience  and  a 
steady  will  to  raise  their  possessor  to  the  rank 
of  a  master.  The  French  school  has  tempered 
his  style,  but  he  is  by  no  means  a  mechanical  fol- 
lower of  it.  He  can  be  as  sensitive  as  he  is  pow- 
erful in  his  rendering  of  nature's  phenomena.  The 
aerial  distances  and  perspective  of  his  best  moods 
are  subtile  and  delicate,  like  nature  herself.  We 
can  breathe  in  his  atmosphere,  and  travel  far  and 
wide  in  his  landscape.  At  times  his  skies  are 
tough,  woolly,  and  opaque,  from  carelessness  of 
brush  in  details,  while  infusing  the  whole  with 
vital  life  and  action.  His  trees  sway ;  his  leaves 
play  in  the  breeze ;  his  clouds  lower  and  are  rain- 
laden  ;  water  sparkles  and  ripples  in  limpid,  rhyth- 
mic joy ;  vegetation  has  the  qualities  of  tender 
growth  ;  the  earth  has  a  sense  of  maternity ;  moun- 
tains, hills,  and  meadows,  sunlight  and  shadow,  all 
gleam  with  conscious  existence,  so  that,  unlike  the 
generahty  of  our  landscape  art,  his  does  not  hint 
a  picture  so  much  as  a  living  realization  of  the 


240 


INNESS. 


affluence  of  nature.  Inness  gives  with  equal  fa- 
cility the  drowsy  heat,  hot  shimmer,  and  languid 
quiet  of  a  summer's  noon,  or  the  storm-weighed 
atmosphere,  its  dark  masses  of  vapor,  and  the 
wild  gathering  of  thunder-clouds,  with  their  sol- 
emn hush  before  the  tempest  breaks.  He  uses 
sunlight  sparingly,  but  it  glows  on  his  canvas,  and 
turns  darkness  into  hope  and  joy.  His  is,  how- 
ever, a  stormy  nature,  pantheistic  in  feeling  with  a 
naturalistic  expression,  brooding  over  the  change- 
ful scenes  of  earth,  rejoicing  in  the  gorgeous  mys- 
teries or  wild  mpurnfulness  of  glowering  sunsets, 
or  clouds  radiant  with  rainbow-promise  of  final 
peace.  There  is  nothing  of  terror  or  the  gro- 
tesque in  his  imagination.  It  speaks  rather  of 
the  mourner  who  faints  and  hopes.  This  over- 
flow of  sadness  is  almost  epic  in  expression,  and 
is  heightened  by  his  intense  idealism  of  color, 
which  is  as  much  of  his  blood  as  Babcock's.  The 
spirit  of  his  landscapes  alone  is  American.  Their 
tone  is  not  Venetian,  nor  wholly  French,  but  par- 
takes of  that  fervid  warmth  with  which  we  love 
to  invest  the  heart's  creations.  Gold  and  purple, 
intense  greens,  crimsons,  hues  that  melt  and  har- 
monize into  liquid  warmth,  vigor,  daring,  inten- 
sity, poetry,  a  passionate  delectation  in  nature,  as 
if  he  were  born  of  her  untutored,  irrepressible 
emotions :  such  are  his  characteristics,  varied  with 
startling  inequalities  and  wantonness  of  brush, 
making  Imiess  the  Byron  of  our  landscapists. 

Darley  is  a  prolific  artist  in  design  of  the  home- 
ly, pathetic,  and  humorous,  strongly  individualistic 
in  the  American  sense,  but  with  a  heavy,  monoto- 


DARLEY.  BILLINGS. 


241 


nous  stroke  of  pencil  and  commonness  of  human 
type  which  give  to  his  compositions  an  almost 
uniform  sameness  of  style  and  character.  Nev- 
ertheless, he  has  great  facility  and  vigor,  a  knowl- 
edge of  drawing,  intenseness  of  executive  skill, 
and  capacity  of  reahstic  illustration,  which  stamp 
him  as  a  remarkable  man. 

Hammatt  Billings  has  capacity  of  higher  order. 
His  taste  is  refined,  talent  versatile,  fancy  subtile, 
and  imagination  inventive.  In  the  limited  scope 
of  architecture  allowed  here,  he  has  given  evidence 
of  a  latent  genius  which  in  any  other  country 
would  have  been  stimulated  and  developed  to  its 
fullest  power.  Thus  far,  he  is  more  commonly 
known  by  his  beautiful  illustrations  of  Keats,  Ten- 
nyson, and  the  most  intellectually  spiritual  of  the 
poets.  In  the  lyrical  grace,  variety,  and  delicate 
beauty  of  his  compositions,  and  sympathetic  ren- 
dering of  the  text,  he  has  no  superior  in  this  coun- 
try. His  brain  is  a  rich  mine  of  aesthetic  wealth. 
He  does  not  so  much  translate  poetry  into  pictorial 
art  as  recast  it  in  exquisite  shapes  of  his  own  in- 
vention. The  mere  overflow  of  his  mind  would 
make  a  reputation  for  the  common  run  of  archi- 
tects and  artists.  Indeed,  we  fancy,  more  is  al- 
ready due  him  in  Boston  than  appears  on  the  sur- 
face, for  his  own  generous  virtues  and  modest 
self-appreciation  stand  in  the  way  of  his  worldly 
prosperity. 

The  lofty  character  and  vast  issues  of  our  civil 
war  have  thus  far  had  but  slight  influence  on  our 
art.    Rarely  have  our  artists  sought  to  give  even 
the  realistic  scenes  of  strife.    This  may  be  in  part 
16 


242 


NAST, 


owing  to  their  inaptitude  in  treating  the  human 
figure,  or  the  delineation  of  strong  passions  and 
heroic  action. 

Judging  from  wood-cuts  in  "  Harpers'  Weekly  " 
of  compositions  relating  to  the  various  stages  of 
the  war,  Nast  is  an  artist  of  uncommon  abilities. 
He  has  composed  designs,  or  rather  given  hints 
of  his  ability  to  do  so,  of  allegorical,  symbolical, 
or  illustrative  character,  far  more  worthy  to  be 
transferred  in  paint  to  the  wall-spaces  of  our  pub- 
lic buildings  than  anything  that  has  as  yet  been 
placed  on  them.  Although  hastily  got  up  for  a 
temporary  purpose,  they  evince  originality  of  con- 
ception, freedom  of  manner,  lofty  appreciation  of 
national  ideas  and  action,  and  a  large  artistic  in- 
stinct. 

We  close  this  brief  analysis  of  the  elements  of 
the  American  school  of  painting  with  a  notice  of 
a  young  artist  whose  incipient  career  gives  prom- 
ise of  great  distinction.  Prediction  is  ever  uncer- 
tain, but  there  are  elements  of  aesthetic  genius  of 
so  unmistakable  a  character,  that,  when  perceived, 
we  are  warranted  in  believing  in  their  final  ex- 
pansion into  consummate  art,  if  their  possessor  be 
but  true  to  them.  Such,  we  trust,  will  prove  to 
be  the  case  with  Elihu  Vedder,  of  New  York.  We 
have  watched  his  career  in  Europe  and  at  home 
with  interest.  He  has  had  no  adventitious  cir- 
cumstances of  fortune  or  friends  to  aid  him,  but 
has  bravely  struggled  through  many  adversi- 
ties. Vigor  and  independence  in  him  are  allied 
to  great  ambition  and  genuine  sesthetic  instinct. 
He  has,  moreover,  perceptive  and  imaginative 


VEDDER, 


243 


faculties  of  no  common  order.  "While  in  Italy 
he  manifested  a  keen  appreciation  of  the  best  ele- 
ments of  its  old  art.  A  close,  indefatigable  stu- 
dent, he  never  became  a  mere  copyist,  but,  making 
notes  of  ideas  and  technical  details,  assimilated  to 
himself  much  of  the  lofty  feeling  and  strong  man- 
ner of  the  world's  masters  in  painting.  Without 
falling  into  servility  of  style,  Yedder  gradually 
acquired  the  strong,  fine,  solid  manner  of  paint- 
ing which  distinguishes  him.  If  we  compare  his 
figures  with  those  of  another  artist  of  decided 
talent,  William  Hunt,  for  instance,  we  see  a 
marked  contrast  in  an  essential  quality  of  art. 
The  men,  women,  and  animals,  and  lately  tha 
landscape,  of  the  latter,  are  mere  shadows  in  com- 
parison. They  are  efligies  or  phantoms,  beautiful 
in  sentiment,  but  falling  short  of  consummate  art. 
Vedder's  are  sohd  projections,  having  the  strong 
relief  of  nature,  standing  out  of  the  canvas,  indi- 
cating absolute  substance  and  weight.  His  big 
men  are  ponderous ;  all  his  forms  are  substantial. 
Hunt's  are  more  potential  5  the  one  aiming  rather 
to  secure  certain  effects,  the  other  realities  of  art. 

The  development  of  Vedder's  talents  has  been 
systematic  and  orderly,  at  times  troubled  by  the 
contrast  in  his  own  mind  between  his  ideal  and 
his  execution,  but  ever  onward,  with  the  assur- 
ance of  laying  a  firm  foundation  each  step  of  his 
way.  The  great  masters  cheered  and  sustained 
him,  because  he  lived  their  lives  over  in  himself, 
believing  their  possibilities  were  as  much  his  as 
was  their  slow  and  checkered  progress.  Weak 
men  are  apt  to  be  discouraged  on  looking  at  the 


244 


VEDDER. 


result  of  a  great  life,  but  strong  men  see  in  it 
each  successive  failure  and  discouragement  brave- 
ly put  aside,  until  perfect  work  grew  at  the  mas- 
ter's touch.  They  analyze  and  deduce.  Diffi- 
culties and  obstacles  stimulate  as  much  as  fruition 
cheers.  In  these  points  Vedder  has  shown  him- 
self to  be  an  artist  of  rare  mental  calibre.  The 
greatest  trial  has  ever  been  to  satisfy  himself. 
To  this  day,  but  few  of  his  pictures  have  been 
given  to  the  public,  although  often  in  extreme 
straits  of  purse.  He  aspires  to  nothing  hasty, 
premature,  superficial,  or  sensational,  but  great 
work,  in  a  broad,  true  manner.  The  smallest  de- 
tail is  equally  cared  for  with  the  profoundest 
fact,  in  its  relation  to  artistic  unity.  He  under- 
stands emphasis  and  punctuation  in  painting,  and 
has  already  seized  upon  that  rarest  of  qualities, 
the  indefinable  touch  of  a  master.  Fortunately, 
his  instinct  and  knowledge  of  color  are  well  bal- 
anced, so  that  he  does  not  disport  himself,  as 
many  do,  in  fantasies  and  passions.  We  do  not 
mean  to  assert,  what  Mr.  Vedder  would  thor- 
oughly disclaim,  that  he  is  a  complete  master, 
but  that  he  is  on  the  right  path  to  become  one, 
and  has  already  shown  an  original  ability  and 
formed  an  individual  style  remarkable  for  so 
young  a  man,  comparatively  unaided,  and  quite 
unexampled  in  comprehensiveness  in  our  school 
of  painting.  Experience  and  study  will  dp  much 
for  him  in  the  future,  if  he  persevere  as  he  has 
begun.  It  is  only  by  striving  to  attain  consum- 
mate art  in  a  large  manner  that  he  can  lay  a 
broad  and  deep  foundation  for  final  success. 


VEDDER. 


245 


Vedder  is  a  painter  of  ideas.  His  style  is 
naturalistic  as  relates  to  truth  of  illustration,  but 
ideal  and  intellectual  in  motive.  He  has  shown 
no  more  fancy  for  the  barren  externalism  and 
dry-bones  literalism  of  the  extreme  Pre-Raphael- 
ites  than  for  the  flimsiness  and  carelessness  of 
their  labor-shirking  opponents.  The  character  of 
his  art  is  Turneresque  in  largeness  and  variety 
of  conception,  vrhile  he  seeks  to  avoid  the  ine- 
qualities of  technical  execution  of  the  great  Eng- 
lish master.  Yedder's  inventive  and  perceptive 
faculties  have  a  wide  range,  united  with  intense 
power  of  expression,  thus  far  confined  almost 
wholly  to  intellectuality  of  motive.  Neither  hu- 
man passion,  nor  spirituality,  in  the  sense  of  a 
deep  apprehension  of  the  ideas  and  sentiments 
that  draw  man's  attention  to  his  future  being,  ex- 
alt and  intensify  faith,  in  short,  promote  and  in- 
vigorate his  religious  consciousness,  has  he  shown 
a  bias  for,  any  more  than  other  of  our  artists. 
The  absence  of  the  passionate  and  ecstatic  leaves 
a  great  chasm  in  our  art.  Nevertheless,  Vedder 
is  as  versatile  as  he  is  forcible.  He  can  be  alter- 
nately sentimental,  humorous,  tender,  grotesque, 
terrible,  and  suggestive,  giving  nature  truthfully 
after  its  external  features,  or  endowing  it  with 
pantheistic  vitality  and  variety  of  ideas.  We 
should  be  glad  to  see  the  pure  element  of  spirit- 
uaHty  in  his  works,  as  we  understand  Christ's 
interpretation  of  it,  and  which  La  Farge  alone 
of  our  artists  hints  at.  But  the  spiritual  growth  of 
man  is  either  the  fruit  of  spontaneity  of  soul  or  of 
maturity  of  knowledge,  and  must  manifest  itself 


246 


VEDDER, 


in  our  art  either  from  intuitive  consciousness  or 
by  the  slow,  cumulative  process  of  development 
of  wisdom.  We  shall  not,  therefore,  blame 
young  men  for  the  lack  of  powers  out  of  the 
compass  of  will  to  command.  Yedder  has  enough 
beside  to  enchain  attention  and  command  recog- 
nition. Especially  is  his  imagination  active  and 
acute  in  its  pantheistic  sympathy  with  the  mys- 
terious, grand,  terrible,  or  desolate  in  nature.  It 
broods  over  solitudes  that  recall  primeval  desola- 
tions, where  no  living  thing  could  be,  unless  it 
was  some  monster  more  fearful  even  than  the 
awful  silence  of  a  nature  dumb  with  the  terror 
of  its  own  creation.  The  best  things  of  Vedder 
exist  mainly  in  sketches  or  unfinished  work. 
Hence,  the  public  must  look  upon  him  rather  as 
a  suggestion  of  possible  greatness  than  as  the 
fulfilment.  He  can  treat  children  as  charmingly 
as  Frere,  and  with  a  finer  poetical  meaning.  Wit- 
ness the  picture  of  the  tiny  peasant  Baby  tottling 
down  steep  stone-steps  to  reach  the  flowers  held 
out  to  her  by  her  little  sister  in  a  wild  area  be- 
low into  which  she  has  strayed,  as  charming  in 
color  as  delicious  in  sentiment,  —  a  picture  which 
epitomizes  young  life's  giddy  pursuit  of  pleasure, 
or  the  angelic  trust  of  babyhood  in  its  puny  grasp 
after  happiness. 

Vedder's  sense  of  humor  and  power  of  illustra- 
tive art  are  admirably  shown  in  the  graphic  series 
of  compositions  of  the  well-known  fable  of  the  Old 
Man,  Son,  and  Donkey,  and  his  picturesqueness  of 
thought  and  vivid  conception  of  Orientalism  in  his 
beautiful  paintings  taken  from  the  "Arabian  Nights'* 


VEDDER. 


247 


Entertainments."  These  glow  with  tropical  fer- 
vor, and  sparkle  like  precious  gems.  His  Sphinx 
is  true  to  the  idea  conveyed,  though  lacking  as  ? 
picture  of  the  mysterious  desert.  In  the  faint  morn- 
ing twilight,  a  naked  Arab  puts  his  inquiring  lips 
to  the  mouth  of  the  inscrutable  statue,  and  asks 
to  know  the  Great  Secret  of  life,  but  receives  no 
answer  except  the  devouring  silence,  solitude,  and 
death  that  encompass  him.  The  Star  of  Bethlehem 
displays  the  volcanic  sterility  of  the  region  of  the 
Dead  Sea,  through  which  journey  the  Wise  Men 
of  the  East,  with  their  gifts,  guided  by  the  mirac- 
ulous star,  which  illumines  the  far  heavens,  and 
discloses  troops  of  celestial  beings  hurrying  down 
to  earth  with  the  glad  tidings  to  men.  Another 
of  Vedder's  thoughts  is  Christ  on  the  Cross  at 
Midnight,  the  prophets  and  patriarchs,  having 
risen  from  their  graves,  looking  up  in  solemn 
wonder  at  the  divine  sacrifice,  to  know  what  it 
portends  to  them. 

Themes  like  this  show  an  incipient  desire  to 
treat  the  supernal,  and  to  reach  forth  after  the 
sublime.  Into  everything  he  undertakes  he  in- 
fuses new  life,  filling  the  spectator  with  fresh  cur- 
rents of  thought  and  imagination,  or  quickening 
his  sympathies  into  intenser  action. 

Vedder  needs  a  cultivated  audience.  His  ca- 
pacity is  both  lyric  and  epic,  but  he  excels  in  the 
latter.  If  he  were  not  so  drawn  to  painting  by 
delight  in  color,  he  could  be  eminent  as  a  sculptor. 
That  he  would  be  the  most  original  and  inventive 
of  our  school,  the  dramatic  force  of  expression  and 
power  of  modelling  shown  in  his  recent  bas-reliefs 


248 


VEDDER^ 


of  the  Arab  Slave  and  Endymion  sufficiently  at- 
test. Then,  too,  his  conception  of  the  classical 
grotesque,  as  exhibited  in  his  pantheistic  idea  of 
the  Tree  Imps,  is  exquisitely  beautiful,  ludicrous, 
and  poetical.  We  know  of  nothing  more  charac- 
teristic in  Grecian  art,  or  better  conceived,  a  spice 
of  modern  humor  being  superadded  to  the  gro- 
tesqueness  of  the  antique  idea.  The  little  brown 
imps,  miniature  fat  men,  with  the  active  organ- 
ization of  boys,  are  crawling  out  of  holes  in  the 
trunks  of  trees  as  the  morning  breaks,  yawning, 
and  looking  so  naively  mischievous  and  frolic- 
some, while  a  solemn  owl  blinks  at  them,  that  we 
believe  in  their  existence,  natural  history  to  the 
contrary. 

Great  refinement  of  thought  is  seldom  united 
to  great  power.  But  we  have  it  in  Yedder. 
There  is  no  vulgarity  of  style  or  motive  ;  no  com- 
monplaces or  inanities  ;  no  pilferings  or  disguis- 
ings  from  others.  Everything  is  fresh,  original, 
and  tasteful.  His  talents  crowd  and  confuse  one 
another.  He  needs  to  acquire  firmness  of  choice 
and  concentration  of  thought.  His  proper  place 
is  Paris.  Yet  he  can  live  in  America  and  grow 
great,  if  opportunity  of  work  be  given,  without 
other  aid  from  European  examples  than  he  has  al- 
ready received.  The  underlying  motives  of  his  art 
are  rather  universal  than  local  or  national.  They 
spring  from  intuitive  perceptions  of  general  human- 
ity and  nature  at  large.  In  some  respects  Vedder 
is  not  unlike  the  greatest  living  pictorial  poet,  Dore, 
with  the  advantage  of  consummate  coloring,  while 
Dore's  greatness  is  limited  to  design.    If  he  lack 


VEDDER. 


249 


the  Frenchman's  terrible  concentration  of  the  hor- 
rible, that  fearful  power  of  turning  all  natural 
objects  into  avenging  demons,  and  transforming 
air,  earth,  and  water  into  a  living  hell,  an  imagi- 
nation so  enveloped  in  shadow  that  heaven  seems 
only  a  dream,  there  is  either  an  intense  repose  or 
pervading  naturalness  of  conception  in  the  terrible 
of  our  artist  that  makes  it  more  real  and  effective. 
The  Lair  of  the  Sea-Serpent  fascinates  by  its  op- 
pressive probability  of  fact.  Dore  appalls  the  imag- 
ination ;  Vedder  alarms  the  reason,  lest  these  things 
be  so.  He  has  a  way  of  rendering  certain  moods, 
perhaps  we  should  say  temperaments,  of  the  land- 
scape, suggestive  of  its  early  stages,  that  cause 
one  to  shrink  from  it  as  the  foe  of  man.  A 
similar  intensity  of  meaning  he  puts  into  human 
topics.  One  of  his  latest  paintings  is  the  Alche- 
mist, who,  having  discovered  the  illusive  secret  of 
his  science,  dies  from  excess  of  emotion,  with  no 
witnesses  of  his  joy  or  his  pangs  except  the  mys- 
terious agents  of  his  success  in  the  bottles  of  his 
laboratory. 

We  have  now  given  our  reasons  for  believing 
that  in  Vedder  the  American  school  has  the  prom- 
ise of  an  artist  of  wider  scope,  greater  vigor, 
more  varied,  intense,  and  original  conceptions  and 
thorough  executive  skill,  than  has  hitherto  ap- 
peared. It  is  indicative  of  a  radical  difference 
of  aesthetic  feeling  between  New  York  and  Bos- 
ton, that  the  pictures  of  Vedder  and  La  Farge, 
our  most  profound  artists,  which  remained  almost 
unnoticed  in  New  York,  were  bought  in  Boston 
as  soon  as  seen,  while  those  of  artists  held  in  the 


250 


ACADEMIC  ART. 


highest  fashion  in  the  former  place  are  rarely  pm^- 
chased  by  Boston  amateurs. 

Looking  back,  we  find  the  American  school  of 
painting  in  its  first  phase  foreign  and  aristocratic 
in  sentiment.  The  paintings  of  the  early  masters 
soon  passed  into  the  quiet  repose  of  old  families, 
whence  the  best  specimens  should  be  culled  for 
public  galleries. 

Their  lineal  successors  are  our  academicians, 
whom  fashion  rules  instead  of  the  loftier  feeling 
which  animated  the  art  of  Stuart,  Trumbull,  and 
AUston.  Academic  art  is  deceptive,  shallow,  and 
showy  by  nature.  Ours  has  no  fixed  prestige  of 
rank  and  cultivation  to  guide  and  sustain  it,  but 
fluctuates  with  the  fickleness  of  its  presiding  di- 
vinity. It  strives  for  the  appearance  of  things, 
rather  than  their  fundamental  qualities,  and  is 
content  with  making  pretty  pictures  and  babbling 
light  sentiment.  Primary  instruction  or  elegant 
illustration  is  its  highest  effort.  The  first  impres- 
sion is  ever  the  best,  like  that  of  fine  manners 
united  to  an  empty  head.  Deception  and  disap- 
pointment are  ambushed  in  it ;  for,  concentrating 
whatever  ability  it  has  on  the  surface,  it  risks  all 
to  catch  the  eye  and  make  the  false  seem  true. 

All  men  are  either  spiritualists  or  materialists, 
in  philosophy,  temperament,  and  faith,  so  that 
art  must  partake  of  one  proclivity  or  the  other. 
Realism,  as  they  term  it,  best  satisfies  those  who 
confide  in  what  they  consider  as  the  substantial 
and  tangible  in  nature,  holding  to  epidermal  rep- 
resentation as  the  end  and  aim  of  art ;  while  ideal- 
ism alone  will  content  those  who  beheve  that  its 


REALISM  AND  IDEALISM. 


251 


legitimate  purpose  is  the  expression  of  inner  life 
or  the  soul  of  things.  The  art  which  most  hap- 
pily combines  the  two  is  the  most  successful  with 
mankind  at  large.  Whether  they  comprehend 
its  principles  or  not,  their  instincts  recognize 
them.  But  mere  materialists  find  so  many  snares 
in  the  exercise  of  the  spiritual,  creative,  or  inter- 
penetrative faculty,  that  they  seek  to  confine 
themselves  to  the  direct  facts  of  nature,  avoiding 
other  idealism  than  that  of  the  naked  eye  in  its 
recognition  of  integumentary  beauty.  Natural- 
ism readily  degenerates  into  matter-of-fact  realism, 
or  delights  in  inferior  truths  and  subordinate  aims. 
It  is,  then,  objective  in  character,  and  confines  it- 
self mainly  to  illustration.  We  cannot,  however, 
classify  either  art  or  artists  with  unerring  fidelity. 
One  may  represent  ideas  in  a  naturalistic  manner, 
as  does  Vedder,  or  he  may  give  nature  in  ideal- 
istic form,  as  does  La  Farge,  with  infinite  variety 
of  expression  and  mental  interchange.  In  gen- 
eral, however,  an  artist,  governed  by  his  temper- 
ament, adheres  to  one  style. 

Idealism  tends  to  subjective  treatment.  It 
awakens  that  inner  consciousness  of  things  which 
responds  with  telegraphic  alacrity  to  the  spirit- 
ual faculties.  ReaHsts  love  facts  ;  idealists  clutch 
at  the  soul  of  the  fact.  The  English  school  is 
strongly  realistic,  and  deficient  in  the  sense  of 
color,  which  is  more  particularly  the  language 
of  idealism.  We  have  eminent  examples  of  each 
kind. 

Beginning  with  our  academicians,  we  have 
only  to  recall  the  works  of  Louis  Lang  for  illus- 


252  HALL  AND  LA  FAROE, 


trations  of  lackadaisical  sentimentalism  of  the 
most  hollow  kind,  mere  soap-bubbles  of  art ;  the 
Taking  the  Veil,  by  Wier,  for  scenic,  cold,  formal 
externalism  and  false  key  of  color  and  light; 
Huntington's  Angel  of  Mercy,  for  meretricious 
weakness ;  his  Sibyl,  for  more  successful  render- 
ing of  the  theme,  but  with  the  value  all  on  the 
outside  ;  the  pictures  of  Gray,  for  average  clever- 
ness of  conventionalism  and  prettiness  ;  of  Edwin 
White,  for  better  taste  and  motives  and  more 
picturesque  composition  than  is  usual;  in  fine, 
the  general  mediocrity  of  execution,  lack  of  orig- 
inal inspiration,  and  absence  of  nature's  utterance, 
for  proving  the  inability  for  great  art  of  academic 
realism. 

Academic  teaching  in  some  sort  does  recognize 
the  ideal,  but  fails  in  its  mehod  of  attaining  it. 
Compare  Hall's  fruit-pieces  with  La  Farge's 
flower-compositions.  Aside  from  exact  imitation, 
Hall's  work  is  the  most  barren  of  art.  As  Hinck- 
ley paints  animals  with  the  animal  left  out,  so 
painters  of  horticulture  like  Hall  exhaust  their 
art  on  the  outside  of  things,  with  the  fidelity  of 
workers  in  wax.  The  more  natural,  the  greater 
the  lie,  because  they  try  not  for  a  type  or  sugges- 
tion, but  for  actual  deception.  An  untrained  eye 
may  be  deceived,  but  such  success  is  positive  con- 
demnation. Art  has  fallen  into  the  low  condition 
of  artifice.  Sooner  or  later  the  mind  detects  the 
subterfuge,  outgrows  its  juvenile  liking,  and  the 
sham  becomes  to  it  stale  and  wearisome.  Who 
thinks  of  the  science  of  the  horticulturist,  or 
pauses  to  taste,  weigh,  or  price  flowers  and  fruit 


INNESS  AND  CHURCH. 


253 


painted  as  La  Farge  paints  them?  His  violets 
and  lilies  are  as  tender  and  true  suggestions  of 
flowers  —  not  copies  —  as  nature  ever  grew,  and 
affect  our  senses  in  the  same  delightful  way. 
Their  language  is  of  the  heart,  and  they  talk  to 
us  of  human  love  and  God's  goodness.  Hall's 
fruit  is  round,  solid,  juicy,  —  huckster's  fruit ; 
only  it  proclaims  paint  and  painter  too  loudly  to 
tantalize  the  stomach.  The  violets  of  La  Farge, 
and,  indeed,  his  landscape  entire,  quiver  with 
poetical  fire.  We  bear  away  from  the  sight  of 
them,  in  our  inmost  souls,  new  and  joyful  utter- 
ances of  nature."^ 

Continuing  the  comparison,  as  regards  funda- 
mental qualities,  between  the  realists  and  ideal- 
ists, let  us  contrast  the  warm  magnificence  of  tone 
and  poetical  significance  of  a  landscape  by  Inness 
with  the  spotty,  staring,  obtrusive  coarseness  and 
materialistic  objectiveness  of  one  by  Brown,  or 
turn  to  his  semi-ideal  composition  of  Rome,  and 
put  it  beside  Church's  Heart  of  the  Andes  or 
Bierstadt's  Rocky  Mountains,  all  three  composed 
on  the  principle  of  rendering  the  general  truths 
of  landscape  in  the  most  picturesque  and  charac- 
teristic manner,  without  regard  to  absolute  fidel- 
ity of  local  detail,  so  that  a  true  impression  of 
the  spirit  and  appearance  as  a  whole  is  given. 
The  radical  difference  between  the  antagonistic 
styles  of  these  masters  will  be  felt  at  once.  How- 
ever much  our  admiration  is  captivated  for  a  sea- 
son by  the  dramatic  spectacular  touch  of  Church 
and  his  gem-like,  flaming  brilliancy  of  color,  or 
*  See  Appendix,  Note  C. 


254  REALISM  PANORAMIC. 


the  broader,  less  artificial,  colder  tinting  of  Bier- 
stadt,  the  rich  harmony  of  Inness  and  attendant 
depth  of  feeling,  with  his  perfect  rendering  of 
the  local  idea  of  the  City  of  the  Caesars,  seize 
fast  hold  of  the  imagination,  and  put  the  specta- 
tor on  his  feet  in  the  very  heart  of  the  scene. 
He  becomes  an  integral  part  of  the  landscape. 
In  the  other  paintings  he  is  a  mere  looker-on, 
who,  after  the  surprise  of  novelty  is  gone,  coolly 
or  impatiently  criticises  the  view.  The  coun- 
tryman that  mistook  the  Rocky  Mountains  for 
a  panorama,  and  after  waiting  awhile  asked  when 
the  thing  was  going  to  move,  was  a  more  saga- 
cious critic  than  he  knew  himself  to  be.  All 
this  quality  of  painting  is  more  or  less  panoramic, 
from  being  so  material  in  its  artistic  features  as 
always  to  keep  the  spectator  at  a  distance.  He 
never  can  forget  his  point  of  view,  and  that  he  is 
looking  at  a  painting.  Nor  is  the  painter  him- 
self ever  out  of  mind.  The  evidences  of  scenic 
dexterity  and  signs  of  his  labor-trail  are  too  ob- 
vious for  that ;  indeed,  with  too  many  the  value 
attached  to  his  work  is  in  the  ratio  of  their  dis- 
play. But  the  effect  of  high  art  is  to  sink  the 
artist  and  spectator  alike  into  the  scene.  It  be- 
comes the  real,  and,  in  that  sense,  true  realistic 
art,  because  it  realizes  to  the  mind  the  essential 
truths  of  what  it  pictorially  discloses  to  the  eye. 
The  spectator  is  no  longer  a  looker-on,  as  in  the 
other  style,  but  an  inhabitant  of  the  landscape. 
His  highest  faculties  are  stimulated  to  action, 
using  the  external  senses  as  servants,  not  mas- 
ters.   He  enjoys  it  with  the  right  of  ownership 


REALISM  AND  IDEALISM. 


255 


by  the  divine  seisin  of  kindred  tliought  and  de- 
sire, not  as  a  stranger  who  for  a  fee  is  permitted 
to  look  at  what  he  is  by  its  very  nature  debarred 
from  entering  upon  and  possessing.  We  dwell 
strongly  upon  the  underlying  characteristics  of 
these  two  styles,  because  true  progress  and  enjoy- 
ment are  so  dependent  upon  a  correct  estimate  of 
their  relative  values  in  art.  The  artist  who  first 
suggests  himself,  no  matter  with  what  degree  of 
talent,  has  only  achieved  a  subordinate  success. 
Noble  art  is  ideal  at  root,  and  the  idea  should  be 
so  treated,  in  accordance  with  the  requirements  of 
beauty,  as  to  absorb  the  spectator  primarily  in 
the  subject.  First,  the  thought ;  then,  the  thinker : 
such  is  the  correct  progress  of  artistic  percep- 
tion.   But  to  return  to  our  illustrations. 

We  may  contrast  the  tender,  aerial  gradations, 
the  transparent,  eye-reposing  and  spirit-soothing 
atmosphere,  and  delicious,  dream-like  aspects  of 
vegetation,  gently  gliding  water,  or  silvery  moon- 
light of  Cole,  with  the  pretentious  "  tours-de-force  " 
details,  crude,  positive,  impenetrable  pigments, 
falsities  of  light  and  expression,  and  prevailing 
unrest  of  Sontag  or  Ginoux,  so  forcibly  opposed 
to  the  low-toned  effects  of  the  idealistic  painter ; 
the  fulness  of  soul-expression  which  Page,  by 
sleight  of  color,  brings  to  the  surface  of  his  por- 
traits, with  the  almost  savage  realism  and  acer- 
bity of  Elliot,  or  the  hard  intellectualism  of 
Healey  ;  the  sweetness,  variety,  delicacy,  and  fer- 
tility, the  fine  taste,  imagination,  fancy,  and  pure 
feeling  displayed  in  Billings's  designs  of  the  Sleep- 
ing Palace,  St.  Agnes's  Eve,  Marguerite,  and  tha 


256 


FRENCH  REALISM. 


Sister  of  Charity,  with  the  dramatic  vigor  and 
obtrusive  individualism  of  Darley's  drawings, 
which  are  the  strongest  and  best  productions  of 
reaUsm,  in  their  special  direction,  that  our  school 
has  to  show.  Both  Billings  and  Darley  draw  in 
a  masterly  manner,  but  on  what  different  keys  of 
design !  Grace  guides  one  pencil,  force  the  other. 
Darley  in  design  and  John  Rogers  in  sculpture  are 
akin  in  power  of  expression.  For  a  final  com- 
parison we  would  suggest  that  our  readers  should 
look  at  the  thin,  positive-colored,  tableau-like  com- 
positi#ns  of  the  academic-trained  and  impatient 
Leutze,  and  then  turn  to  the  miniature  illustra- 
tive paintings  of  Vedder,  like  the  Roc's  Egg  and 
Jinnee,  and  note  well  their  brilliant  but  harmoni- 
ous coloring,  finished  detail,  breadth  of  treatment, 
dignity  and  yet  vigor  of  action,  well-ordered  mass- 
es, sense  of  repose,  and  solid  beauty,  and,  above 
all,  their  mental  suggestiveness,  every  stroke  of 
the  brush  betraying  definite  intent,  and  all  tend- 
ing to  unity  of  idea  and  execution. 

If  we  look  at  our  painting  as  a  whole,  we  find, 
that,  though  indebted  in  many  respects  to  the 
French  school,  it  has  some  characteristics  more 
promising  than  those  of  its  master.  The  French 
manner  is  too  intellectual,  too  realistic,  too  little 
spiritual  and  idealistic,  wanting  also  in  passion 
and  the  language  of  color.  Delacroix  is  excep- 
tional, and  not  to  be  cited  against  this  view.  He 
was  unrecognized  in  his  time,  and  even  now  has 
no  positive  influence,  though  a  giant  of  original 
force  and  vehemence.  Indeed,  his  nature  was 
too  deep  and  intense  to  mix  with  the  natures 


AMERICAN  COLOR. 


257 


about  him.  A  fresh  revelation  he  is  and  will  ever 
remain.  So  we  cannot  cite  him,  nor  can  we 
the  Englishman  Turner,  as  evidence  of  general 
qualities.  Such  men  serve  rather  to  show  the 
lack  of  generic  virtues  than  the  presence  of  them. 
The  French  school  is  not  one  of  powerful  color, 
like  that  of  Venice,  or  the  Spanish.  Its  chief  de- 
fect, aside  from  spirituality,  is  in  this  direction. 
Its  color  is  more  the  result  of  scientific  calculation 
than  of  feeling  or  instinct.  Now,  American  art, 
though  in  intellectual  knowledge  and  technical 
ability  so  greatly  behind  it,  has  actually  given 
hints  of  ideas,  in  Story's  Sibyl  and  Ward's  Freed- 
man,  that  belong  to  and  express  thoughts  of 
the  living  nineteenth  century.  Imperialism  in 
France  will  not  permit  art  to  become  the  lan- 
guage of  social  and  political  hopes  and  aspira- 
tions. But  there  is  no  reason  why  the  art  of 
democratic  America  shall  not.  What  lessons 
might  not  be  taught  out  of  the  demoniac  passions 
that  give  birth  to  New  York  riots,  if  their  true 
origin,  spirit,  and  intent  were  exhibited  realisti- 
cally or  symbolically !  What,  also,  of  the  wider 
view  of  the  duties  of  humanity  which  is  com- 
ing to  the  surface  of  men's  consciences  in  the 
present  struggle  of  the  powers  of  light  against 
the  powers  of  darkness !  But,  setting  aside  lofty 
motives,  we  have  better  promise  of  a  genuine, 
original  school  of  color  than  any  other  nation. 
On  looking  at  Allston,  Babcock,  Hunt,  La  Farge, 
Inness,  and  Vedder,  it  really  seems  as  if  the  man- 
tle of  Venice  had  fallen  upon  America,  and  the 
far-off  New  World  was  about  to  revive  the  de- 
17 


258  TEE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 


parted  glories  of  the  Old.  Possessing  the  burn- 
ing language  of  poets  and  prophets,  we  await 
their  full  prophetic  utterance. 

No  nation  can  turn  to  a  more  heroic  or 
grander  record  of  sacrifice,  suffering,  and  triumph. 
We  are  now  passing  through  the  transition  period 
of  unformed  youth,  with  its  raw  impulses,  weak 
compromises,  and  hasty  decisions,  into  the  fuller 
wisdom  of  ripe  manhood,  tried  by  an  ordeal  of 
the  greatest  civil  war  the  earth  has  ever  seen,  and 
for  the  greatest  ideas  and  largest  liberty  to  the 
human  race.  Ours  is  the  victory  for  all  human- 
ity. Out  of  this  war  for  equality,  exaltation, 
and  unity  of  peoples,  must  spring  up  a  school  of 
art  of  corresponding  nobleness.  The  people's 
Future  is  its  field.  A  great  work  is  before  it. 
Little  is  done,  —  nothing,  compared  to  what  there 
is  to  do.  But  slight  as  is  the  showing  of  our  art 
in  a  national  sense,  it  still  precedes  the  popular 
taste.  Art  awaits  a  valid  public  opinion  to  in- 
spire it,  and  to  be  amenable  to.  The  common 
taste  rests  upon  the  level  of  materialistic  land- 
scape. It  is  just  expanding  into  a  liking  for 
dead  game  and  ordmary  genre  subjects.  To  it, 
the  sublime,  impassioned,  or  spiritual,  is  an  un- 
known tongue.  It  has  not  even  learned  the 
true  definition  of  art,  much  less  comprehended  its 
entire  spirit  and  purpose.  There  is  a  crude  lik- 
ing of  prettiness,  mistaken  for  beauty,  but  no 
deep  conviction  of  our  aesthetic  poverty,  still  less 
any  such  fixed  faith  in  art  as  we  have  in  science. 
Art  itself  has  not  grown  into  a  faith.  It  aspires 
overmuch  to  dollars  and  praise.    Although  lead- 


GOLDEN  LIGHT. 


259 


ing  public  taste,  it  stoops  to  it.  Knowing  the 
right,  it  hints  at  better  things,  but  hesitates  to  do 
them.  It  wants  backbone  ;  has  no  lofty  concep- 
tion and  belief  in  its  own  future.  But,  full  of 
young  blood,  the  dawn  of  its  morning  twilight 
tinges  the  horizon  with  far-off  golden  light. 


CHAPTER  XYI. 


The  American  School  of  Sculpture.  —  Its  Origin.  —  Greenough. 
—  Modern  Motives.  —  Sculpture  as  a  Trade.  —  Clark  Mills ; 
Powers;  Crawford;  Dexter;  King.  —  Chantrey's  Washing- 
ton.—  Our  Portrait -Statues.  —  Those  of  the  Ancients. — 
Randolf  Rogers.  —  The  Gates  of  Paradise,  —  of  the  Capi- 
tol. —  Ball ;  Brown ;  Harriet  Hosmer ;  Miss  Stebbins ;  John 
Rogers;  Dr.  Rimmer;  Paul  Akers;  Palmer;  William  Story; 
Ward.  —  Conclusion. 

the  progress  of  civilization  sculpture 
usually  anticipates  painting.  But  in 
America  it  has  been  otherwise.  We  had 
eminent  painters  before  a  sculptor  appeared.  Such 
sculpture  as  we  possess  is  the  work  of  the  present 
generation.  All  remember  with  what  naive  sur- 
prise and  fastidious  delicacy,  scarcely  a  score  of 
years  ago,  the  Chanting  Cherubs  of  Greenough 
were  greeted.  A  marble  figure  by  an  American 
was  in  itself  strange  and  curious.  At  that  time 
we  had  so  vague  a  notion  of  aesthetic  enjoyment 
that  even  the  cold  purity  of  marble  could  not 
protect  these  little  children  from  the  reproach 
of  immodesty,  or  secure  to  them  any  higher  in- 
terest than  would  have  been  given  to  a  Jap- 
anese mermaid.  They  were  simply  interesting 
as  the  work  of  a  countryman  in  a  profession  of 
doubtful  utility;  if  favored  at  all,  to  show  that 


HORATIO  GREEN 0 UGH. 


201 


Americans  could  do  some  things  as  well  as  Euro- 
peans. Yet  these  venturous  pioneers  of  a  noble, 
art,  happy  in  motive  though  crude  in  execution^ 
did  signal  service,  by  proving  that  there  existed 
in  the  American  mind  capacity  for  plastic  art. 
They  are  the  germ  of  our  present  school.  Rightly 
to  estimate  the  progress  made,  we  must  examine 
what  has  been  done  since  the  Cherubs  awakened 
the  idea  of  native  sculpture. 

We  were  as  fortunate  in  having  Horatio  Green- 
ough  for  a  pioneer  in  this  direction  as  AUston  in 
the  sister-art.  Both  were  true  artists,  in  advance 
of  their  times,  inspired  by  the  best  examples  of  the 
old  schools,  though  in  execution  unequal  to  their 
conceptions.  Like  Allston,  also,  Greenough's  am- 
bition prompted  him  to  a  high  range  of  art.  His 
aesthetic  feeling  was  eminently  lofty  and  pure.  We 
cannot  point  out  any  masterpiece,  as  showing  an 
entirely  satisfactory  fulfilment  of  his  own  desires, 
but  his  whole  career  was  an  example  in  the  right 
direction.  There  exist  unfinished  work  of  his  in 
plaster  bas-relief,  such  as  the  Genius  of  Italy,  Cas- 
tor Gemelli,  and  Bacchante  and  Young  Faun,  re- 
plete with  the  best  classical  feeling.  They  are 
severely  composed,  and  vital  with  inward  life 
and  graceful  action.  His  horses  are  beautiful 
creations,  full  of  fire  and  spirit ;  steeds  of  eternity, 
like  those  of  Phidias.  These  compositions  are  the 
seed-thoughts  of  a  great  master  of  the  highest  style 
of  art.  In  his  Washington  he  rises  above  mere 
portraiture,  and  seeks  to  symbolize,  in  a  colossal 
statue  of  a  godlike  form,  the  nation's  cherished 
"father."    As  we  rise  to  the  level  of  his  sym- 


2G2  MODERN  SCULPTURE. 


pathies  and  knowledge,  so  shall  we  better  under- 
stand him  and  appreciate  his  efforts. 

Our  sculptors  are  mostly  men  of  unfulfilled  ca- 
reers. In  justice  to  them,  as  with  the  painters,  the 
public  must  not  forget  that  the  examples  before 
them  are  not  only  the  works  of  a  school  still  in  its 
infancy,  but  also,  in  general,  the  efforts  of  young 
men.  The  modern  standard  of  sculpture,  also,  as 
compared  with  that  of  classical  Greece  or  mediseval 
Europe,  is  low.  It  seldom  rises  above  decoration 
as  an  accessory  to  architecture,  pretty  fancies,  re- 
alistic portraiture,  or  imitations  of  obsolete  myths 
and  Pagan  forms.  Christian  sculpture,  once  so 
fertile,  varied,  and  eloquent,  has  degenerated  into 
lifeless  symbolism,  lying  obituaries  in  stone,  and 
prosaic  materialism.  Yet  there  are  indications  of 
ambition  for  better  things.  A  purer  idealism  and 
loftier  spirituality  begin  to  interpenetrate  the 
prevalent  styles  and  motives.  Nevertheless,  our 
sculpture  as  a  whole,  disregarding  the  example 
of  Greenough,  who  left  no  scholars,  was  speedily 
seduced  into  the  facile  path  of  realism  by  the 
national  bias  to  the  material  and  practical.  This 
has  been  the  more  complete  because  of  our  isola- 
tion from  Europe.  Her  modern  schools  can  teach 
us  much  of  the  science  of  art,  while  the  old  mas- 
ters of  Greece  and  Italy  will  always  remain  great 
examples  of  past  styles,  and  incentives  to  excel- 
lence in  ways  and  ideas  of  our  own.  Possessing 
standards  of  excellence  and  models  of  taste  in 
every  department,  Europe  has  the  inestimable 
advantage  of  enlightened  tribunals  of  criticism  : 
America  has  only  her  instincts  to  guide  her.  We 


MECHANICAL  SCULPTURE.  2G3 


may  profit  by  foreign  work  and  ideas  without  im- 
itating their  phases  of  art,  past  or  present.  Our 
own  phase  must  be  born  out  of  our  own  life,  as 
the  art  of  Europe  has  sprung  from  its  varied  civ- 
ilizations. If  we  would  exalt  our  sculpture,  we 
must  dignify  our  lives  with  great  ideas  and  heroic 
deeds.  We  believe  that  American  sculpture  is 
destined,  like  its  painting,  to  partake  of  the  new, 
strong  life  that  is  fast  coming  upon  us,  —  a  life 
equally  of  ideas  and  action. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  allude  by  name  to  the 
crowd  of  common  sculptors,  of  whom  America 
already  has  an  ample  supply.  These  men  de- 
grade art  to  a  trade.  They  manufacture  statuary 
on  the  same  principle  that  they  would  make  patent 
blacking,  founding  their  standard  of  success  on  the 
amount  of  their  sales.  And  yet  their  work  is  not 
to  be  altogether  contemned,  mechanical  and  lifeless 
as  it  may  be,  because  it  helps  to  familiarize  the 
public  with  the  idea  of  art,  and  gradually  creates 
a  desire  for  something  better.  Forbearance  ought 
not,  however,  to  go  beyond  private  work  and  in- 
dividual choice.  If  the  ignorance  of  legislative 
bodies  or  the  zeal  of  interested  parties,  at  a  heavy 
outlay  of  public  funds,  foists  upon  the  people  works 
whose  sole  effect  on  the  cultivated  mind  is  disgust 
or  ridicule,  and  on  the  common  simply  wonder  at 
mechanical  dexterity,  bigness,  or  theatrical  display, 
as  in  the  instance  of  Clark  Mills's  equestrian  stat- 
ues at  Washington,  no  protest  is  too  strong ;  for 
such  abortive  work  tends  to  bring  all  art  into  dis- 
repute, even  with  the  multitude.  The  desire  for 
greatness  is  in  itself  a  noble  instinct,  but  in  mat- 


264 


UNFLEDGED  SCULP  TOES, 


ters  of  art  must  not  be  confused  with  bigness  or 
mechanical  skill.  Too  many  unfledged  sculptors, 
among  them  women,  unmindful  of  the  obligations 
to  science  of  genius  even,  and  the  slow,  hard  labor 
by  which  it  learns  to  master  material  and  shape 
it  to  its  ideas,  seem  ambitious  to  begin  their  ca- 
reers where  Phidias  and  Michel  Angelo  left  off. 
Misled  by  inchoate  imagination  or  crude  fancy, 
they  attempt  the  colossal,  heroic,  or  sublime,  before 
mastering  the  rudiments  of  art-knowledge.  It  is 
as  if  Columbus,  with  the  idea  of  a  new  Orient 
fermenting  in  his  brain,  had  embarked  on  the 
Atlantic  in  a  skiff  to  find  it.  Badly  articulated 
jomts,  displaced  muscles,  in  fine,  anatomy  reduced 
to  chaos,  bulk  being  its  chief  quality,  with  perhaps 
a  good  motive  lost  in  the  wreck  of  execution,  are 
the  frequent  net  results  of  premature  attempts. 
It  is  to  be  expected  that  those  qualities  which 
ripen  soonest  in  our  national  life  should  be  cor- 
respondingly manifested  in  our  art,  because  to  the 
common  mind  they  are  the  most  attractive  and 
intelligible.  Even  though  the  motive  be  idealis- 
tic, as  in  much  of  the  statuary  of  Powers  and 
Palmer,  the  greatest  stress  of  the  artist  is  shown 
in  surface-work,  the  appreciation  of  the  specta- 
tors being  directed  to  the  skin  rather  than  to  the 
idea.  Neither  Allston  nor  Greenough  was  able 
to  enlighten  the  popular  notions  of  art.  The 
strong  current  of  realism  rising  in  the  head- 
waters of  American  civilization  has  swept  them 
and  their  works  into  transient  oblivion,  while  it 
has  brought  to  the  surface  of  popular  esteem 
clever   men  of  the   opposite   tendency,  in  no 


POWERS. 


2G5 


wise  their  equals,  but  noteworthy  in  many  re- 
spects. 

Among  them,  Powers  and  Crawford  have  until 
recently  stood  foremost.  Hiram  Powers  fitly  rep- 
resents the  mechanical  proclivities  of  the  nation. 
His  female  statues  are  simply  tolerably  well-mod- 
elled figures,  borrowed  in  conception  from  the 
second-rate  antique,  somewhat  arbitrarily  named, 
as  if  he  doubted  the  authenticity  of  his  work,  all 
of  one  monotonous  type,  but  exquisitely  wrought 
out  under  his  supervision  by  Italian  artisans.  By 
nature  Powers  is  a  mechanic,  and  his  studies  are 
chiefly  in  that  direction.  He  has  paid  more  at- 
tention to  improving  the  tools  with  which  he 
works  than  to  developing  his  gesthetic  faculty. 
The  popular  esteem  for  his  statuary  lies  in  its 
finish,  which  is  like  ivory-turning.  No  other 
American  has  so  suddenly  won  for  himself  a 
reputation ;  but  being  founded  simply  on  a  talent 
for  the  manufacture  of  pretty  forms  from  a  given 
model,  without  sufficient  intellectual  power  to  ex- 
alt or  vary  his  subjects,  to  be  original  in  choice, 
or  to  compose  a  group,  not  even  a  student  of  art, 
but  content  with  transitory  triumphs,  his  fame  has 
no  solid  basis,  although  his  manual  skill  and  taste 
still  preserve  for  him  an  honorable  rank. 

Crawford  is  superior  to  Powers  in  versatility 
of  invention,  largeness  of  expression,  and  quality 
of  aspiration.  An  earnest,  impatient  worker,  his 
most  ambitious  attempt  is  the  Washington  monu- 
ment at  Richmond,  Virginia.  Single  statues,  par- 
ticularly Jefferson's,  have  merit  as  portraits.  But 
as  a  composition,  the  monument  lacks  unity  of 


266 


CRAWFORD. 


action,  harmony,  and  repose.  Parts  do  not  sus- 
tain one  another.  Judged  by  Grecian  gesthetic 
taste,  it  is  very  faulty.  Washington  is  exhibited 
in  his  popular  military  costume,  on  a  badly  mod- 
elled horse,  and  not  being  properly  placed  in  ref- 
erence to  the  remaining  figures,  fails  in  attracting 
the  spectator  as  the  central  point  of  interest,  as 
he  also  fails  in  his  highest  qualities  as  a  man. 
The  eye  is  distracted  by  the  variety  and  inhar- 
monious action  of  the  different  statues,  each  one 
claiming  for  itself  the  entire  interest,  instead  of 
being  subordinated  to  the  principal.  The  eagles 
are  fierce  birds,  whose  threatening  aspect  warns 
off  visitors,  typical  indeed  of  "  spread-eagleism," 
but  in  no  wise  giving  an  exalted  opinion  of  our 
national  symbol. 

The  designs  for  the  pediment  of  the  Capitol  at 
Washington  are  a  still  greater  failure.  Effort  of 
this  character  suggests,  as  a  standard  of  compar- 
ison, the  groups  of  the  Parthenon.  Tried  by 
them,  they  are  incongruous,  mean,  and  feeble,  be- 
traying impatience  and  self-exaggeration.  Art 
destined  to  symbolize  to  coming  ages  the  ambition 
of  a  great  nation  ought  to  have  been  the  fruit  of 
mature  study.  Such  a  commission  would  have 
thrilled  a  master  with  glorious  conceptions,  and, 
while  filling  his  mind  with  a  proud  consciousness 
of  strength,  suffused  it  likewise  with  fear,  lest  he 
might  be  wanting  in  the  fulfilment  of  so  exalted 
a  trust.  In  the  faith  and  doubt  of  a  great  intel- 
lect lies  its  strength.  Nothing  short  of  its  en- 
tire best,  inspired  by  golden  opportunity,  would 
have  satisfied  the  judgment.     But  we  find  no 


CRAWFORD, 


267 


trace  either  of  humility  or  strength  in  these  de^ 
signs. 

On  the  contrary,  they  are  crude  and  puerile.  In 
deed,  in  reference  to  their  object  and  position  it  is 
impossible  to  regard  them  otherwise  than  with  in- 
dignation. We  have  bales  of  merchandise  marked 
with  the  sculptor's  initials,  —  the  whole  work  seems 
gotten  up  in  rival  haste  for  a  market,  —  a  flat 
mass  of  marble  called  an  Indian  grave,  an  Indian 
warrior  meditating  upon  a  rock,  a  squaw  reclining 
with  a  pappoose  at  her  breast,  a  backwoodsman  in 
shirt-sleeves,  school-boys  in  jackets,  with  a  peda- 
gogue initiating  the  youngest  into  the  mysteries 
of  a  primer,  a  mechanic  reclining  on  a  cog-wheel, 
sheaves  of  grain,  and  a  colossal  symbolical  figure  in 
the  centre;  the  whole  a  jumble  of  modern  com- 
monplace, savage  life,  and  allegory,"  whose  good 
points  are  confined  to  isolated  action  and  modelling. 

A  composition  of  this  character  confuses  and 
conflicts  with  noble  art.  It  tells  to  children  a 
story  after  the  manner  of  nursery-maids,  truth 
and  fiction  blended  to  amuse  and  amaze.  Seen 
from  below,  as  they  must  always  be,  the  figures 
will  look  like  monstrous  stone  toys,  placed,  with  a 
sort  of  random  regard  for  size,  the  biggest  in  the 
middle,  upon  a  triangular  shelf,  the  meaning  of 
all  of  which  it  will  be  useless  to  seek  to  solve  by 
the  unaided  eye.  Does  such  a  group  adequately 
symbolize  the  American  Eepublic  ? 

In  undertaking  it  Crawford  overstepped  his 
ability.  Powers,  more  wary,  has  never  been 
misled  by  his  ambition  into  attempting  great 
work.    That  Crawford  was  capable  of  excellence 


268 


CRAWFORD. 


in  a  subordinate  branch  is  evinced  by  his  single 
statues,  particularly  that  of  Beethoven.  This  is 
simple,  dignified,  elevated  in  sentiment,  and  with 
skilfully  treated  drapery,  bestowing  classical  grace 
and  freedom  upon  modern  costume.  The  first 
design  was  bombastic  and  theatrical,  —  an  indif- 
ferent efiigy,  with  uplifted  hand  and  stick,  beat- 
ing time,  —  a  mere  orchestra-leader.  A  judicious 
critic  suggested  that  that  was  not  Beethoven,  and 
Crawford,  with  happier  thought,  wrought  out  the 
noble  figure  of  the  Boston  Music  Hall,  which 
combines  with  idealistic  treatment  some  excellent 
characteristics  of  realistic  portraiture. 

Our  school  of  sculpture  may  be  said,  in  gen- 
eral, to  excel  in  busts.  We  have  men  of  decided 
native  ability,  like  Dexter  and  King,  who  give 
strong  realistic  portrait-busts,  with  something  of 
the  character  of  Elliot's  likenesses  in  painting. 
These  are  men  of  executive  force  and  unfathomed 
powers,  needing  only  more  favorable  conditions  for 
a  broader  development  of  their  talents.  King's 
bust  of  Ames,  the  artist,  is  thoroughly  Roman  in 
type  and  feeling,  with  the  old  Etruscan  fidelity  of 
portraiture.  It  would  have  been  better  for  the 
permanent  fame  of  Powers  if  he  had  confined 
himself  to  bust-making.  His  facility  in  giving 
the  likeness,  refined  by  his  sense  of  beauty,  and 
popular,  wax-like  finish,  make  him  the  favorite 
sculptor  of  wealth  and  fashion.  Like  Sir  Thomas 
Lawrence  and  Sir  Thomas  Lely,  in  painted  por- 
traits, he  is  sure  to  gratify  his  sitters  by  satisfying 
the  superficial  notions  of  good  taste  and  the  beau- 
tiful.   We  have  used  the  term  beautiful  some- 


POWERS. 


269 


what  loosely  in  reference  to  Powers,  though  ir, 
the  light  in  which  most  persons  view  art,  it  might 
pass  unquestioned.  But  it  is  necessary  to  be  more 
explicit.  The  sculpture  of  Powers  does  not  ren- 
der the  real  beautiful.  He  is  rather  the  sculptor 
of  sentimental  prettiness,  a  dainty  workman  in 
marble,  as  incapable  of  realizing  high  ideal  mo- 
tives by  his  conventional  treatment  as  he  is  of  ren- 
dering genuine  naturalism.  California,  Eve,  Amer- 
ica, the  Greek  Slave,  are  the  same  woman,  and 
each  might  be  called  something  else  with  equal 
felicity  of  baptism.  The  California  is  essentially 
vulgar  in  pose  and  commonplace  in  allegory.  As 
the  Greek  Slave  is  universally  known,  we  shall 
take  that  to  illustrate  our  meaning.  Powers's  idea 
was  to  make  an  effigy  of  a  terror-stricken  girl, 
whose  purest  instincts  and  holiest  affections  are 
about  to  be  trampled  into  the  dust  by  a  merce- 
nary wretch.  Under  no  conditions  could  maid- 
enly modesty  and  innocence  appeal  more  pa- 
thetically to  the  sympathies  of  spectators  before 
whose  compassionate  look  pure  girlhood  must  in- 
stinctively shrink.  What  have  we?  A  feebly 
conceived,  languid,  romantic  miss,  under  no  delu- 
sion as  to  the  quality  and  value  of  her  fresh 
charms  viewed  by  the  carnal  eye,  and  evidently 
comforted  by  them,  naked  and  exposed  though  she 
is  to  the  lustful  gaze  of  men !  We  need  have  no 
pitying  pang ;  the  bought  and  the  buyer  will  soon 
be  on  speaking  terms,  for  a  coquette  at  heart  al- 
ways has  her  price.  This  failure  to  attain  high 
art  out  of  an  exalted  motive  is  caused  by  mistak- 
ing the  outside  pretty  for  the  interior  beautiful, 


270 


POWERS. 


To  thorouglily  understand  the  difference  betAveen 
the  two,  tm^n  from  the  Slave  to  the  Venus  of  Milo. 
This  statue  has  less  to  touch  the  heart,  but  more  to 
elevate  the  mind.  It  is  one  of  the  highest  efforts 
of  classical  art ;  the  incarnation  of  the  Greek 
ideal  of  womanhood  ;  "  the  goddess-woman ; "  a 
mother  of  nations,  and  the  perfect  companion  of 
the  perfect  man.  Nothing  frivolous,  weakly  sen- 
timental, or  immodest  in  her,  and  yet  no  charms 
that  sexually  attract  are  wanting,  but  they  are 
subdued  to  the  greater  expression  of  the  virtue 
and  intelligence  that  assert  the  true  woman's 
prerogative  to  the  homage  of  man.  The  most 
sensual  eye  can  detect  no  consciousness  of  naked- 
ness in  the  faultless  grace,  dignity,  tenderness, 
and  majesty  of  that  figure,  whose  conception  and 
execution  are  alike  lofty  and  harmonious. 

The  spectator  should  be  on  his  guard  lest  he 
attach  too  much  importance  to  surface-work.  Its 
seductive  qualities  are  the  first  to  arrest  the  eye. 
But  great  sculptors  never  exhaust  themselves  in 
details,  though  giving  them  their  due  value.  The 
best  statue  of  Washington  was  done  by  the  Eng- 
lishman Chantrey.  While  giving  a  beautiful  fin- 
ish to  his  surfaces,  devoid  of  waxen  hardness,  he 
attains  to  a  life-like  treatment  of  flesh,  with  cor- 
rect indications  of  bones  and  muscles,  and  a  nat- 
ural dignity  of  pose.  His  treatment  of  costume 
and  details  is  likewise  excellent,  and  at  the  same 
time  he  infuses  his  marble  with  the  lofty  character 
of  his  subject.  In  these  respects  his  taste  and 
knowledge  might  benefit  all  our  artists  who  at- 
tempt portrait-statues.   Much  of  the  workmanship 


POWERS, 


271 


so  attractive  to  the  untrained  eye  is  the  handicraft 
of  artisans.  Powers  gets  the  best  he  can  at 
annual  wages  of  a  few  hundred  dollars  each, 
some  of  whom  have  the  feeling  and  knowledge 
of  real  artists.  Chantrey  paid  a  thousand  pounds 
sterling  to  his  two  best  cutters,  and  they  made 
work  which  passed  for  and  was  paid  as  his,  in 
one  instance  as  high  as  five  hundred  pounds  ster- 
ling for  a  repetition  of  a  bust  of  George  IV.  for 
the  Duke  of  Devonshire,  to  the  satisfaction  of  all 
parties.  We  mention  these  facts,  that  those  who 
attach  so  much  importance  to  the  mere  workman- 
ship of  the  American  school  may  learn  that  even 
in  that  quality  it  is  not  beyond  indebtedness  to 
foreign  sources. 

We  cannot  award  the  restricted  praise  of  the 
prettiness  and  finish  of  the  busts  of  Powers  to 
his  portrait-statues.  These  are  soulless  figures, 
made  up  of  laboriously  modelled  details  of  cos- 
tume and  the  shell  of  the  outer,  man  ;  as  if  all 
that  was  necessary  to  create  a  heroic  statue  were 
the  clothes  and  a  mask  of  the  original.  Indeed, 
American  portrait-statues,  with  but  partial  and 
particular  exceptions,  are  pitiful  failures.  Strain- 
ing after  the  sublime,  they  too  often  attain  only 
the  ridiculous.  In  general,  they  have  no  back- 
bone or  internal  anatomy.  They  are  too  much 
like  the  stuffed  scarecrows  of  cornfields,  the 
drapery,  heavy  or  commonplace,  being  but  a 
coarse  artifice  to  conceal  the  inability  of  the 
sculptor  to  master  anatomy  and  bestow  digni- 
fied action  or  graceful  repose  upon  his  work. 
The  worst  specimens  of  this  old-clothes  statuary 


272 


OLD-CLOTHES  STATUARY, 


are  Powers's  Webster,  ridiculous  from  the  pecu- 
liarity of  its  action  as  seen  in  certain  directions, 
and  Hart's  Henry  Clay,  the  meagrest  effigy  of 
all.  The  Otis,  Adams,  and  Winthrop  of  Mount 
Auburn  Chapel  are  somewhat  better  examples. 
If  the  chief  aim  of  sculpture  be  shirt-ruffles,  vo- 
luminous cloaks,  big  boots,  and  the  dress-coats 
and  trousers  of  the  tasteless  modern  apparel,  to 
the  intent  to  exhibit  the  fashions  of  the  hour, 
why  then  we  have  several  masterpieces.  But 
if  we  ever  reach  that  aesthetic  standard  which 
caused  the  Greeks  to  appoint  officers  to  remove 
statues  that  were  an  offence  to  good  taste  and 
the  canons  of  art,  not  a  few  of  our  public  char- 
acters who  have  been  victimized  in  bronze  or 
marble  will  be  taken  down  from  their  high 
places. 

How  do  our  portrait-statues  compare  with 
those  of  the  ancients  which  are  the  standards 
of  classical  excellence?  The  noblest  examples 
now  extant  are  the  Sophocles  of  the  Lateran  and 
the  Aristides  or  ^schines  of  Naples.  The  pov- 
erty of  thought,  feebleness  of  modelling,  homeli- 
ness of  draperies,  and  awkwardness  of  postures, 
of  modern  work,  in  contrast  with  these  classical 
prototypes,  are  but  too  apparent.  What  else 
could  we  expect  before  the  mute  eloquence  which 
awes  even  the  Apollos  and  Yenuses  of  their  own 
times  ?  Those  statues  were  the  supersensuous 
idealizations  of  classical  art,  appealing  to  man  for 
recognition  as  gods,  and  failing  in  the  full  meas- 
ure of  the  idea,  because  in  form  and  action  too 
human.   But  the  noble  art-treatment  of  humanity 


SOPHOCLES  AND  ARTS  TIDES, 


273 


as  seen  in  Sophocles  and  Aristides  raises  our 
feelings  and  thoughts  to  the  godlike,  and  com- 
mands our  admiration  for  work  which  fulfils  the 
highest  conceptions  of  its  particular  aim  in  art. 

Which  of  the  two  is  the  superior  is  a  nice 
question ;  but  in  view  of  our  subject  it  is  profita- 
ble to  refer  to  their  good  points.  Sophocles  is 
more  broadly  executed,  and  the  drapery  is  more 
simple  and  graceful.  Aristides  excels  in  refine- 
ment of  features  and  in  moral  qualities  of  head. 
The  lines  of  his  raised  elbow  are  remarkably  fine, 
and  in  harmony  with  his  whole  figure.  The 
intellectual  aspect  of  each  is  admirably  sustained 
by  the  secondary  means  of  attitude,  drapery, 
truth  and  grace  of  proportions,  and  modelling  of 
details.  It  is  the  harmonious  combination  of  the 
highest  laws  of  art  in  thorough  naturalness  of 
form  which  makes  these  statues  the  finest  exam- 
ples of  plastic  portraiture. 

Notwithstanding  the  wide  gulf  which  at  pres- 
ent exists  between  the  best  Grecian  sculpture 
and  ours,  much  credit  is  due  Crawford  and  Rogers 
of  Rome  for  their  energy  and  versatility.  Their 
principal  weakness  is  in  the  too  hasty  undertak- 
ing of  great  compositions.  One  remedy  for  the 
abortive  work  which  is  so  rapidly  disgracing  our 
public  edifices  is  to  adopt  the  European  system 
of  anonymous,  competitive  concurrence  of  artists 
for  the  designs  needed  ;  the  prize  to  be  awarded 
by  competent  judges,  after  the  designs  shall  have 
been  submitted  to  the  criticisms  of  the  people, 
whose  right  it  is  to  be  heard  in  these  matters, 
because  they  are  to  pay  for  what  in  the  one  case 
18 


274 


COMPETITIVE  DESIGNS. 


may  be  an  ever-during  joy,  in  the  other  a  horror 
forever.  The  great  work  of  Europe  has  been  the 
result  of  competitive  designs  or  the  contribution 
of  many  minds.  Although  Ghiberti  was  the 
youngest  of  the  aspirants  for  the  bronze  doors  of 
the  Baptistery  at  Florence,  and  had  for  opponents 
Donatello,  Brunellesclii,  and  the  most  profound 
artists  of  that  great  age,  yet  even  by  their  gen- 
erous verdict  the  commission  was  awarded  him, 
and  he  was  nearly  a  lifetime  in  executing  that 
which,  when  done,  became  the  gates  of  Paradise 
in  the  eyes  of  the  greatest  sculptor  the  world 
has  seen  since  Phidias.  Randolf  Rogers,  of 
Rome,  was  commissioned  by  a  far  greater  people 
to  create  doors  for  their  Capitol.  In  the  light  of 
symbolical  portals  to  a  Temple  of  Freedom,  the 
idea  partakes  of  the  sublime.  But  the  American 
sculptor  is  too  impatient  for  original  inspiration, 
and  has  no  adequate  conception  of  his  opportunity 
for  noble  work.  Borrowing  his  general  idea  from 
Ghiberti,  he  hurriedly  elaborates  a  prosaic,  histor- 
ical composition  of  the  discovery  of  America  and 
life  of  Columbus,  clever  and  interesting  as  illus- 
tration, but  far  beneath  the  requirements  of  crea- 
tive art  or  the  dignity  of  the  occasion,  and  stamps 
the  whole  with  his  name. 

Plagiarism  is  rife  among  some  of  our  artists, 
because  of  their  indifference  to  the  requirements 
of  high  art  and  unwillingness  to  acknowledge 
their  obligations  to  others.  The  Nydia  of  Ran- 
dolf Rogers  evidently  is  an  exaggeration  of  a 
well-known  mutilated  statue  of  the  Vatican,  prob- 
ably one  of  the  Niobe  group ;  the  Proserpine  of 


REALISTIC  SCULPTURE,  275 


Powers  recalls  the  celebrated  Psyche  of  Naples  ; 
and  Miss  Hosmer's  Beatrice  Cenci  savors  too 
much  of  a  design  of  Scheffer.  We  have  Pan- 
doras, Ganymedes,  Cupids,  and  similar  feeble  re- 
productions of  classical  sculpture  in  scores.  But 
the  American  mind,  eclectic  as  it  assuredly  is, 
neither  lacks  vigor  nor  independence.  It  will  not 
always  remain  a  plagiarist,  or  be  in  contented 
bondage  to  unyielding  realism,  though  the  pres- 
ent bias  is  towards  the  literal  exactness  of  Etrus- 
can art,  rather  than  the  lofty  idealism  of  the 
Greek.  Our  most  clever  sculptors  give  faithful 
portraits,  concealing  nothing,  exalting  nothing,  yet 
vigorous,  natural,  and  effective.  The  Franklin  of 
Richard  Greenough  is  of  this  character.  Ball's 
Webster  is  so  superior  to  that  of  Powers  it  is  a 
marvel  the  citizens  of  Boston  should  have  con- 
sented to  placing  the  latter  where  it  is,  when  they 
had  at  their  command  the  natural  and  forcible 
model  made  by  their  own  modest  and  painstaking 
townsman.  The  spirited  equestrian  Washington, 
of  colossal  proportions,  destined  for  the  city  of 
Boston,  on  which  Ball  is  now  engaged,  is  credit- 
able to  him  from  the  realistic  point  of  view,  but 
fails  to  represent  the  Father  of  his  Country.  He 
has  made  him  a  captain  of  dragoons.  The  action 
of  the  drawn  sword  is  spasmodic  and  inappro- 
priate. Looking  at  it  in  a  naturalistic  point  of 
view,  Washington  would  be  very  apt  to  injure 
himself  or  his  horse  with  it.  When  shall  we 
have  an  artist  for  Washington  ?  Brown's  eques- 
trian statue  at  New  York  is  of  a  higher  intellect- 
ual character,  but  not  one  that  completely  fulfils 
the  national  want. 


276 


HARRIET  HOSMER. 


Harriet  Hosmer  is  an  example  of  a  self-made 
sculptor,  by  force  of  indomitable  industry  and  will. 
She  alone  of  the  women  of  America  who  have 
essayed  sculpture  has  achieved  a  reputation. 
Puck  displays  nice  humor,  and  is  a  spirited  con- 
ception ;  but  Zenobia  is  open  to  the  charge  of 
mere  materialistic  treatment.  The  accessories  of 
queenly  costume  overpower  the  real  woman.  In- 
deed, Miss  Hosmer's  strength  and  taste  lie  chiefly 
in  that  direction.  She  has  not  creative  power,  but 
has  acquired  no  small  degree  of  executive  skill 
and  force.  Both  Miss  Hosmer  and  Miss  Steb- 
bins  are  now  engaged  on  portrait  -  statues,  of 
Thomas  Benton  and  Horace  Mann,  which,  if  suc- 
cessful, will  establish  for  their  sex  an  enviable 
position  in  sculpture.  But  Miss  Stebbins,  al- 
though possessing  refined  taste  and  some  imagi- 
nation, as  evinced  by  her  idea  of  a  design  for  a 
fountain  in  Central  Park,  New  York,  —  the  Angel 
of  the  Lord  stirring  the  Waters,  —  has  shown  no 
power  of  execution,  and  but  scanty  anatomical 
knowledge. 

We  now  come  to  a  man  of  a  high  order  of  abil- 
ity, indeed,  we  may  call  it  genius  in  its  peculiar 
province,  as  original  as  he  is  varied  and  graphic, 
pure  in  sentiment,  clever  in  execution,  and  thor- 
oughly American,  in  the  best  sense  of  the  word, 
in  everything.  If  we  were  to  compare  the  spirit 
of  his  compositions  with  foreign  work,  we  should 
say  that  they  included  the  finest  qualities  of  Wil- 
kie  and  Teniers.  But  this  would  not  do  him  full 
justice.  Beside  dramatic  power,  picturesqueness 
of  composition,  naturalness  and  fidelity  of  detail; 


JOHN  ROGERS. 


277 


harmony  and  unity  of  proportions  and  grouping, 
he  has  a  mine  of  humor,  delicate  sentiment,  and 
elevated  meaning,  alike  satisfying  to  head  and 
heart.  We  know  no  sculptor  like  John  Rogers, 
of  New  York,  in  the  Old  World,  and  he  stands 
alone  in  his  chosen  field,  heretofore  in  all  ages 
appropriated  by  painting,  a  genuine  production 
of  our  soil,  enlivening  the  fancy,  enkindling  patri- 
otism, and  warming  the  affections,  by  his  lively, 
well-balanced  groups  in  plaster  and  bronze.  Al- 
though diminutive,  they  possess  real  elements  of 
greatness.  In  their  execution  there  is  .no  little- 
ness, artifice,  or  affectation.  The  handling  is  mas- 
terly, betraying  a  knowledge  of  design  and  anat- 
omy not  common,  and  a  thoroughness  of  work 
refreshing  to  note.  His  is  not  high  art,  but  it  is 
genuine  art  of  a  high  naturalistic  order,  based  on 
true  feeling  and  a  right  appreciation  of  human- 
ity. It  is  healthful  work,  and  endears  itself  by 
its  mute  speech  to  all  classes.  The  Village  Post- 
Office,  Returned  Volunteer,  Union  Refugees,  Camp- 
Fire,  Village  Schoolmaster,  and  Checker-Players 
aptly  illustrate  our  praise.  His  pathos,  naivete^  and 
simplicity  of  motive  increase  with  his  subjects,  and 
give  even  to  the  commonplace  almost  the  dignity 
of  the  heroic.  The  chief  feature  of  his  art  is  his 
power  over  human  expression,  bestowing  upon 
plastic  material  a  capacity  and  variety  of  soul- 
action  which,  according  to  the  canons  of  some 
critics,  it  was  useless  for  sculpture  to  attempt. 
But  he  has  been  successful  in  this  respect,  and 
inaugurated  a  new  triumph  in  his  department. 
As  an  experiment,  we  should  like  to  see  the  ef- 


278 


DR,  RIMMER, 


feet  of  one  of  his  groups  painted  to  life,  to  test 
the  ability  of  color  under  such  conditions  as  an 
auxiliary  to  form.  At  all  events,  John  Rogers 
is  a  master  of  those  motives  which  help  unite 
mankind  into  one  common  feeling  of  brother- 
hood. 

Dr.  Rimmer,  of  Boston,  an  accomplished  teacher 
of  design,  of  much  original  mental  force,  destined 
to  do  good  service  to  American  art,  has  given 
a  striking  example  of  his  capacity  for  realistic 
sculpture  in  a  model  of  an  athlete  reeling  under 
the  force  of  a  death-blow.  The  knowledge  of 
anatomical  science  displayed  is  wonderful,  al- 
though the  choice  of  time  and  action  partake 
more  of  mechanical  than  aesthetic  art.  Its  chief 
merit  is  its  difficulty  of  execution  and  truth  of 
detail.  In  a  head  of  St.  Stephen,  carved  by  him- 
self from  granite,  Dr.  Rimmer  has  shown  a  fine 
capacity  for  lofty  expression. 

America  is  not  without  a  few  representatives 
of  idealistic  motives  in  sculpture.  Paul  Akers 
died  too  soon  to  give  the  full  measure  of  his  pow- 
ers. He  was  impressed  with  the  Greek  feeling 
of  beauty,  and  liis  Pearl-Diver  and  St.  Eliza- 
beth of  Hungary,  immature  works,  display  pure 
sentiment  and  refined  treatment.  But  in  Palmer, 
of  Albany,  we  have  a  prolific  sculptor  of  this 
class,  whose  education  and  inspirations  have  been 
confined  to  our  own  shores.  He  owes,  therefore, 
nothing  to  foreign  training.  Powers  has  even 
said  that  he  had  nothing  to  learn  from  Europe. 
Undoubtedly,  Palmer  has  a  poetical,  versatile 
mind.    His  fancy  is  varied  and  rhythmical,  and 


PALMER, 


279 


he  shows  some  imagmation.  The  Longfellow  o^* 
marble,  he  is  unequal  to  the  poet  in  artistic  skill. 
His  favorite  mode  of  expression  is  allegory  or 
symbolism.  Aiming  at  original  invention,  he  has 
attained  a  style  peculiar  to  himself.  There  is  an 
incongruity  between  his  motives  and  his  treat- 
ment, the  one  being  ideal,  the  other  materialis- 
tic, in  some  instances  to  coarseness.  Brain  and 
hand  are  at  war.  Perhaps  his  finest  compo- 
sition is  the  Indian  Maiden  finding  the  Cross  in 
the  Wilderness,  simple  and  suggestive,  the  figure 
of  the  maiden  being  far  more  refined  than  his 
white  women.  The  Ambush  Chief  is  forcible 
and  natural,  a  truer  savage  than  Crawford's. 
The  Peri,  Spirit's  Flight,  Peace  in  Bondage, 
Morning,  Evening,  Resignation,  Faith,  Mem- 
ory, mostly  medallions,  although  somewhat  ca- 
priciously baptized,  manifest  the  varied  idealism 
of  his  thought.  They  are  more  to  be  commended 
for  their  intention  than  execution.  As  with  Pow- 
ers, prettiness  is  a  prominent  characteristic,  though, 
unlike  Powers,  the  result  with  Palmer  is  some- 
times almost  ugliness,  from  his  want  of  taste  in 
the  selection  of  an  aesthetic  type  of  features  and 
form.  But  in  art,  as  in  morality,  to  him  who 
loves  much,  much  is  to  be  forgiven.  Palmer  typi- 
fies in  himself  American  art  in  bondage.  The 
will  and  feeling  to  be  original  and  inventive  are 
there,  but  they  are  in  the  bonds  of  materialism 
and  inexperience.  If  the  study  of  classical  art 
profited  Michel  Angelo,  and  inspired  Niccola  Pi- 
sano  to  found  the  wonderful  mediaeval  school  of 
sculpture  of  Italy,  we  may  well  believe  that  the 


280 


PALMER. 


indigenous  greatness  of  the  American  mind  will 
never  be  of  a  quality  beyond  benefiting  by  the 
example  and  experience  of  other  nations.  The 
best  artists  of  Florence  on  first  going  to  Rome, 
at  the  sight  of  the  masterpieces  there  collected, 
were  tempted  to  throw  down  their  brushes  in 
despair.  Such  must  be  the  emotion  of  any  true 
artist.  The  isolation  of  America  may  be  of  ad- 
vantage in  the  development  of  native  ideas,  but 
it  is  a  disadvantage  to  any  school  not  to  have 
within  its  reach  fountain  -  heads  of  knowledge, 
and  the  highest  standards  of  comparison.  Par- 
ticularly in  men  like  Palmer  we  feel  this  neces- 
sity. The  beauty  of  high  art  does  not  interpen- 
etrate his  work.  He  has  made  the  White  Cap- 
tive, liis  most  popular  statue,  a  petulant,  pouty 
girl,  vulgar  in  face  and  form,  apparently  the  copy 
of  a  very  indifferent  model,  with  so  materialistic 
a  treatment  of  the  surface  of  the  marble  as  to 
suggest  meat  and  immodesty.  Indeed,  this  low 
style  of  model  runs  through  his  adult  female  fig- 
ures. It  has  been  said  to  us  that  his  aim  was  an 
indigenous  American  type  of  womanhood.  If  so, 
he  has  indeed  secured  an  original,  but  Venus  for- 
bid that  it  should  ever  be  taken  for  the  ideal 
standard  of  form  of  the  women  of  America.  His 
undraped  women  are  guiltless  of  Mrs.  Browning's 
"  white  silence."  The  uniform  type  of  his  female 
heads  is  as  low  as  is  his  treatment  of  flesh.  It 
has  no  savor  of  intellect.  He  suggests  hair  rather 
than  gives  it.  His  drapery  is  weak,  but  some  of 
his  children's  faces  are  very  tender  and  sweet.  No 
sculptor  can  satisfactorily  render  the  human  form 


STORY. 


281 


without  sufficient  knowledge  to  compose  his  fig- 
ures from  the  best  points  he  can  obtain  from 
many  models,  joined  to  enough  ideality  to  harmo- 
nize the  whole,  as  did  Raphael,  into  the  com- 
pletely beautiful.  Palmer  has  much  to  learn 
from  classical  art  before  developing  a  perfect 
American  type  or  style. 

William  Story  is  little  known  or  appreciated 
in  his  native  land  from  two  causes.  First,  his 
range  of  art  is  ideal,  and  his  treatment  derived 
from  the  best  examples  of  Greece  and  Italy. 
Secondly,  we  are  without  any  work  of  his  to 
show  his  entire  ability,  although  his  statue  of  his 
father.  Judge  Story,  at  Mount  Auburn,  seemingly 
borrowed  in  thought  from  the  Menander  of  the 
Vatican,  is  the  best  ideal  marble  portraiture  our 
school  has  produced.  We  doubt  his  ability  to 
give  a  realistic  portrait.  The  bust  of  Theodore 
Parker  is  Socrates  in  modern  guise,  resting  on  a 
pile  of  books  ;  a  device  worthy  only  of  an  artist 
of  the  Bernini  order  of  taste.  But  the  simpli- 
city, repose,  correct  management  of  drapery,  and 
vital  glow  of  character  of  his  father's  statue  cause 
it  to  contrast  favorably  with  the  badly  con- 
ceived and  mechanically  executed  statues  of  the 
same  chapel.  Unhappily,  England  has  secured 
the  two  conceptions,  Cleopatra  and  the  Libyan 
Sibyl,  which  have  placed  him,  in  European  esti- 
mation, at  the  head  of  American  sculptors.  Their 
greatness  consists  in  the  originality  of  thought. 
They  are  the  growth  of  new  art-blood.  We  may 
ethnographically  object  that  Cleopatra,  sprung 
from  Hellenic  blood,  could  not  be  African  in 


282 


STORY, 


type.  Still  it  is  a  generous  idea,  growing  out  of 
the  spirit  of  the  age,  —  the  uplifting  of  down- 
trodden races  to  an  equality  of  chances  in  life 
with  the  most  favored,  —  to  bestow  upon  one  of 
Africa's  daughters  the  possibility  of  the  intellect- 
ual powers  and  physical  attractions  of  the  Gre- 
cian siren.  In  harmony  with  the  spirit  of  this 
statue  is  the  loftier  idea  of  the  Sibyl,  a  sugges- 
tion, we  are  told,  of  Mrs.  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe, 
founded  upon  her  knowledge  of  the  runaway 
slave.  Sojourner  Truth.  The  Sibyl  is  Africa's 
prophetic  annunciation  of  her  Future  among  na- 
tions. Sculpture  of  this  character  displays  a  cre- 
ative imao;i nation  and  darino;  of  no  common  or- 
der.  Born  of,  and  yet  in  some  degree  forestall- 
ing, the  great  political  ideas  of  the  age,  it  is  high 
art  teaching  noble  truth.  Wherever  greatness  of 
idea  exists,  minor  defects  in  execution  are  more 
readily  overlooked,  because  further  study  and 
experience  may  correct  them.  The  defects  of 
these  statues  are  to  be  seen  in  their  want  of  per- 
fect harmony  of  anatomical  structure,  that  lack 
of  the  science  of  art  which  must  always  exist 
whenever  the  intent  is  not  sufficiently  sustained 
by  executive  knowledge.  But  in  these  attempts 
American  sculpture  has  emerged  from  the  bond- 
age of  the  past  into  a  promising  future.  Prof- 
iting by  the  knowledge  of  the  old  masters,  and 
forming  his  taste  upon  the  best  styles.  Story  has 
had  the  independence  to  seek  out  an  unused  field. 
In  this  he  confers  honor  on  our  school,  and  gives 
to  it  an  impetus  as  new  as  it  is  refreshing.  But 
it  requires  something  more  than  fine  single  concep- 


STORY. 


285 


tions  to  constitute  a  great  master.  Much  in  the 
right  direction  is  to  be  looked  for  in  Story,  now 
in  the  maturity  of  his  powers.  He  has  to  guard 
against  the  emasculating  flatteries  of  success,  im- 
patience of  study,  and  mean  greed  of  fame  and 
gain,  which  so  often  prove  the  bane  of  artists. 
Further,  let  him  beware  of  that  fatal  snare  to 
greatness,  leaning  too  much  on  the  ideas  of  oth- 
ers. In  his  more  recent  work  there  is  evidence 
of  this,  which  might  pass  unremarked  had  he  not 
shown  so  much  virgin  thought  in  other  figures. 
Judith  is  spirited,  but  recalls  Donatello.  Saul, 
which  the  sculptor  esteems  his  best  work,  is  a  par- 
aphrase of  the  Moses  of  Michel  Angelo.  Draw- 
ing inspiration  from  such  deep  springs  of  art, 
with  the  best  Christian  and  Pagan  work  about 
him.  Story  could  not  fail  of  bestowing  upon  his 
borrowed  motives  somewhat  of  the  heroic  gran- 
deur of  the  original  ideas.  Excepting  a  certain 
feebleness,  which  almost  all  other  work  must 
show  in  comparison  with  the  supernatural  force 
of  Michel  Angelo's  statues,  Saul,  as  seen  in  the 
photograph,  is  Michel  Angelesque  in  feeling,  has 
grandeur  of  conception,  broad  treatment,  strength 
of  anatomical  detail,  well-managed  drapery,  and 
expression  characteristic  of  the  soul-harrowed 
king  of  Israel.  We  object  to  the  too  evident 
taking  of  the  treatment  as  a  whole  from  the 
Florentine  sculptor,  and  especially  to  the  exact 
imitation  of  the  right  hand,  anatomically  and  in 
its  abstracted  play  with  the  beard,  one  of  the  finest 
points  of  the  Moses. 

There  is,  however,  another  production  of  our 


284 


WARD. 


school,  completely  original  in  itself,  a  genuine 
inspiration  of  American  history,  noble  in  thought 
and  lofty  in  sentiment.  It  is  a  simple  statuette, 
to  us  the  work  of  an  unknown  name,  and  the 
sole  one  we  have  had  the  good  fortune  to  see. 
We  refer  to  the  African  Freedman,  of  the  New 
York  Academy  Exhibition,  1863,  by  Ward.  A 
naked  slave  has  burst  his  shackles,  and,  with 
uplifted  face,  thanks  God  for  freedom.  It  sym- 
bolizes the  African  race  of  America,  —  the  birth- 
day of  a  new  people  into  the  ranks  of  Chris- 
tian civilization.  We  have  seen  nothing  in  our 
sculpture  more  soul-lifting,  or  more  comprehen- 
sively eloquent.  It  tells  in  one  word  the  whole 
sad  tale  of  slavery  and  the  bright  story  of  eman- 
cipation. In  spiritual  significance  and  heroic  de- 
sign it  partakes  of  the  character  of  Blake's  unique 
drawing  of  Death's  Door,  in  his  illustration  of 
the  Grave.  The  negro  is  true  to  his  type,  of  nat- 
uralistic fidelity  of  limbs,  in  form  and  strength 
suggesting  the  colossal,  and  yet  of  an  ideal  beauty, 
made  divine  by  the  divinity  of  art.  The  expres- 
sion of  the  features  is  as  one  of  the  "  redeemed." 
It  is  the  hint  of  a  great  work,  which,  put  into 
heroic  size,  should  become  the  companion  of  the 
Washington  of  our  nation's  Capitol,  to  commemo- 
rate the  crowning  virtue  of  democratic  institu- 
tions in  the  final  liberty  of  the  slave. 

In  conclusion,  there  are  two  distinct  points 
from  which  to  view  American  sculpture.  If  we 
regard  only  the  zero  from  which  it  started  a  quar- 
ter of  a  century  ago,  we  have  abundant  reason 
for  self-congratulation.    No  nation,  in  so  brief  a 


CONCLUSION. 


285 


period,  has  produced  better  work,  or  developed 
a  wider  range  of  motives.  From  nothing,  sculpt- 
ure has  risen  to  be  a  popular  want.  Out- 
doors and  in-doors  statues  are  multiplying ;  mon- 
uments are  designed ;  and  plastic  art  begins  to 
assert  a  place  in  architecture,  but  not  yet  the  one 
rightly  belonging  to  it.  True,  there  is  a  sur- 
feit of  mechanical  and  inane  work,  and  our  na- 
tional taste  is  not  yet  sufficiently  cultivated  to 
discriminate  between  the  relative  merits  of  realis- 
tic and  idealistic  art,  or  to  exact  that  scientific 
truth  of  treatment  and  breadth  of  style  which 
characterize  the  best  men  of  Europe.  It  pre- 
fers the  superficial  attractions  of  imitative  to  the 
profounder  thought  and  purer  handicraft  of  crea- 
tive art.  Yet  a  people  whose  school  of  sculpture, 
commencing  in  a  Greenough,  in  less  than  one 
generation  gives  birth  to  artists  of  the  varied 
calibre  of  Ward,  John  Rogers,  and  Story,  has  no 
occasion  to  envy  the  progress  of  other  nations  in 
the  same  space  of  time.  But  if  we  would  be- 
come truly  great  in  this  branch  of  art,  we  must 
look  keenly  at  our  deficiencies,  and  keep  steadily 
in  view,  as  a  possible  attainment,  the  standard  of 
those  masters  whose  genius  elevates  them  far 
above  the  narrow  limits  of  nationalities.  Tried 
by  that  test  we  have  no  great  sculpture ;  perhaps 
we  should  say  compositions,  for,  as  we  have 
shown,  we  are  not  deficient  in  single  ideas  or 
suggestions  of  absolute  merit. 


CHAPTER  XYH. 


Review  of  American  Architecture,  Past  and  Present.  —  The 
Prospect  before  it.  —  Summary  of  Fundamental  Principles. 

UR  synopsis  of  the  Art-Idea  would  be  in- 
complete without  referring  to  the  condi- 
tion of  architecture  in  America.  Strictly 
speaking,  we  have  no  architecture.  If,  as  has 
happened  to  the  Egyptians,  Ninevites,  Etruscans, 
Pel'asgians,  Aztecs,  and  Central  American  races, 
our  buildings  alone  should  be  left,  by  some  cata- 
clysm of  nations,  to  tell  of  our  existence,  what 
would  they  directly  express  of  us  ?  Absolutely 
nothing  !  Each  civilized  race,  ancient  or  modern, 
has  incarnated  its  own  aesthetic  life  and  character 
in  definite  forms  of  architecture,  which  show  with 
great  clearness  their  indigenous  ideas  and  gen- 
eral conditions.  A  similar  result  will  doubtless 
in  time  occur  here.  Meanwhile  we  must  look  at 
facts  as  they  now  exist.  And  the  one  intense, 
barren  fact  which  stares  us  fixedly  in  the  face 
is,  that,  were  we  annihilated  to-morrow,  nothing 
could  be  learned  of  us,  as  a  distinctive  race, 
from  our  architecture.  It  is  simply  substan- 
tial building,  with  ornamentation,  orders,  styles, 
or  forms,  borrowed  or  stolen  from  European 
races,  an  incongruous  medley  as  a  whole,  de- 


BASTARD  ARCHITECTURE. 


287 


veloping  no  system  or  harmonious  principle  of 
adaptation,  but  chaotic,  incomplete,  and  arbitrary, 
declaring  plagiarism  and  superficiality,  and  prov- 
ing beyond  all  question  the  absolute  poverty  of 
our  imaginative  faculties,  and  general  absence  of 
right  feeling  and  correct  taste.  Whether  we  like 
it  or  not,  this  is  the  undeniable  fact  of  1864. 
And  not  merely  this :  an  explorer  of  our  ruins 
would  often  be  at  a  loss  to  guess  the  uses  or  pur- 
poses of  many  of  our  public  edifices.  He  could  de- 
tect bastard  Grecian  temples  in  scores,  but  would 
never  dream  they  were  built  for  banks,  colleges, 
or  custom-houses.  How  could  he  account  for 
ignoble  and  impoverished  Gothic  chapels,  con- 
verted into  libraries,  of  which  there  is  so  bad  an 
example  at  Cambridge,  Massachusetts,  or  indeed 
for  any  of  the  architectural  anomalies  which  dis- 
figure our  soil  and  impeach  our  common  sense, 
intensified  as  they  frequently  are  by  a  total  dis- 
regard of  that  fundamental  law  of  art  which 
demands  the  harmonious  relation  of  things,  con- 
demning the  use  of  stern  granite  or  adamantine 
rock  in  styles  where  only  beautiful  marbles  can 
be  employed  with  aesthetic  propriety,  or  of  cold 
stones  in  lieu  of  brick,  or  the  warmer  and 
yet  more  plastic  materials  belonging  of  right  to 
the  variety  and  freedom  of  Gothic  forms  ?  If 
the  mechanical  features  of  our  civilization  were 
left  to  tell  the  national  story,  our  ocean-clippers, 
river-steamers,  and  industrial  machines  would 
show  a  different  aspect.  They  bespeak  an  enter- 
prise, invention,  and  development  of  the  practical 
arts  that  proclaim  the  Americans  to  be  a  remark- 


288 


NAVAL  ARCHITECTURE. 


able  people.  If,  therefore,  success  attend  them  in 
whatever  they  give  their  hearts  and  hands  to,  it  is 
but  reasonable  to  infer  that  cultivation  need  but  be 
stimulated  in  the  direction  of  architecture  to  pro- 
duce results  commensurate  with  the  advance  in 
mechanical  and  industrial  arts.  If  one  doubt 
this,  let  him  investigate  the  progress  in  ship- 
building from  the  point  of  view  of  beauty  alone, 
and  he  will  discover  a  success  as  complete  in 
its  way  as  was  that  of  the  builders  of  Gothic 
cathedrals  and  Grecian  temples.  And  why? 
Simply,  that  American  merchants  took  pride  in 
naval  architecture.  Their  hearts  were  in  their 
work ;  their  purses  opened  without  stint ;  and 
they  built  the  fastest  and  handsomest  ships. 

To  excel  in  architecture  we  must  warm  up 
the  blood  to  the  work.  The  owner,  officer,  and 
sailor  of  a  gallant  ship  love  her  with  sympathy 
as  of  a  human  affinity.  A  ship  is  not  it,  but 
she  and  her,  one  of  the  family ;  the  marvel  of 
strength  and  beauty ;  a  thing  of  life,  to  be  ten- 
derly and  lovingly  cared  for  and  proudly  spoken 
of  All  the  romance  of  the  trader's  heart  —  in 
the  West,  the  steamboat  holds  a  corresponding 
position  in  the  taste  and  affections  of  the  public  — 
goes  out  bountifully  towards  the  symmetrical, 
stately,  graceful  object  of  his  adventurous  skill 
and  toil.  Ocean-clippers  and  river-steamers  are 
fast  making  way  for  locomotive  and  propeller, 
about  which  human  affections  scarce  can  cluster, 
and  which  art  has  yet  to  learn  how  to  dignify  and 
adorn.  But  the  vital  principle,  love  of  the  work, 
gtill  lives,  that  gave  to  the  sailing-vessel  new 


PILGRIM  ARCHITECTURE.  289 


grace  and  beauty,  combining  them  with  the  high- 
est qualities  of  utility  and  strength  into  a  hap- 
py unity  of  form.  As  soon  as  an  equal  love  is 
turned  towards  architecture,  we  may  expect  as 
rapid  a  development  of  beauty  of  material  form 
on  land  as  on  the  ocean. 

Our  forefathers  built  simply  for  protection  and 
adaptation.  Their  style  of  dwelling-houses  was 
suited  to  the  climate,  materials  at  hand,  and  social 
exigencies.  Hence  it  was  true  and  natural. 
They  could  not  deal  in  artifice  or  plagiarism, 
because  they  had  no  tricks  of  beauty  to  display 
and  nothing  to  copy.  Over  their  simple  truth  of 
expression  time  has  thrown  the  veil  of  rustic 
enchantment,  so  that  the  farm-houses  still  stand- 
ing of  the  period  of  the  Indian  wars  are  a  much 
more  pleasurable  feature  of  the  landscape  than 
their  pretentious  villa-successors  of  the  nineteenth 
century. 

The  public  buildings  of  our  colonial  period  are 
interesting  solely  from  association.  Anything  of 
architectural  pretence,  more  destitute  of  beauty, 
it  would  be  difficult  to  originate ;  and  yet,  as 
meagre  a  legacy  as  they  are  of  the  native  styles 
of  ancestral  England  and  Holland  at  that  date, 
they  avoid  the  worst  faults  of  ornamentation  and 
plagiarism  of  later  work.  Any  of  them  might 
have  been  sent  over  the  seas  to  order,  like  a 
dress-coat,  and  placed  wherever  needed,  without 
other  thought  than  to  get  a  substantial  building 
^or  as  little  money  as  possible.  Yet  there  is 
about  them,  as  well  as  the  aristocratic  mansions  of 
colonial  times,  a  certain  quiet  dignity  of  construct- 
19 


290  COLONIAL  ARCHITECTURE. 


ural  expression  which  bespeaks  conscious  rank 
and  gentlemanly  breeding.  It  is  true,  they  have 
misplaced  pilasters,  pillars,  and  other  incongruous 
thefts  of  classical  architecture,  in  mathematical 
rank  -  and  -  file  order  upon  wall-surfaces,  with 
which  they  have  nothing  in  common  in  feature 
or  spirit,  but,  notwithstanding  the  pettinesses  of 
the  pettiest  of  the  imitators  of  Wren  or  Jones, 
they  are  not  overborne  and  crushed  by  them, 
but  wear  them  with  as  self-possessed  an  air  as 
their  owners  did  foreign  orders  and  titles,  re- 
joicing in  possessing  conventional  distinctions  of 
rank  not  had  by  their  neighbors. 

Fergusson  says,  "  There  was  not  a  building 
erected  in  the  United  States  before  a.  d.  1814, 
worthy  of  being  mentioned  as  an  example  of  ar- 
chitectural art."  This  sweeping  assertion  may 
disturb  the  serenity  of  those  who  look  upon  the 
City  Hall  of  New  York,  the  State  House  at 
Boston,  and  buildings  of  their  time  and  class  as 
very  wonderful.  We  agree  entirely  with  the 
judgment  of  Fergusson  from  his  stand-point  of 
criticism.  But  there  are  details  and  features  in 
many  of  the  earlier  buildings  that  are  pleasurable 
and  in  good  taste,  while  the  edifices,  as  a  whole, 
are  not  displeasing.  The  Boston  State  House 
is  a  symmetrical,  well-proportioned  building,  sim- 
ple and  quiet  in  its  application  of  classical  de- 
tails, with  an  overgrown  lantern  on  a  diminutive 
dome,  but,  as  an  entirety,  effective  and  imposing. 
Its  good  taste  is  more  in  its  negative  than  positive 
qualities,  and  happy  adaptation  of  foreign  styles 
to  our  wants,  which  at  this  early  period  almost 


EARLY  AMERICAN. 


savors  of  a  germ  of  new  thought.  The  New 
York  City  Hall  is  a  meagre,  Renaissant  build- 
ing, with  nothing  new  in  expression  or  adaptation, 
and  would  find  itself  at  home  almost  anywhere  in 
Europe,  without  attracting  notice  of  any  kind. 

Fergusson,  who  is  an  excellent  guide  in  the 
forms  of  universal  architecture,  further  states  as 
a  reason  for  our  deficiency  of  original  thought, 
that  "  an  American  has  a  great  deal  too  much 
to  do,  and  is  always  in  too  great  a  hurry  to  do 
it,  ever  to  submit  to  the  long,  patient  study  and 
discipline  requisite  to  master  any  style  of  archi- 
tecture perfectly.  Still  less  is  he  likely  to  submit 
to  that  amount  of  self-negation  which  is  indispen- 
sable if  a  man  would  attempt  to  be  original." 
This  is  too  true  for  any  one  to  gainsay  it ;  neither 
would  it  lessen  its  force,  to  retort  on  the  weak  points 
of  his  countrymen.  But  perhaps  he  overstrains 
criticism  in  stating  that  "  the  perfection  of  art  in 
an  American's  eyes  would  be  the  invention  of  a 
self-acting  machine  which  should  produce  plans 
of  cities,  and  designs  for  Gothic  churches  and 
classic  monumental  buildings,  at  so  much  per 
foot  super,  and  so  save  all  further  thought  or 
trouble.'"^  Resentment  at  this  caricature  is 
checked  when  we  remember  that  our  countrymen 
have  actually  patented  machines  for  producing 
sculpture,  whether  from  life  or  copy ;  and  that 
almost  every  new  town  founded — once  they 
were  allowed  to  grow  —  is  on  a  rectangular,  grid- 
iron' plan,  utterly  devoid  of  picturesque  beauty  or 
aesthetic  design,  as  monotonous  and  unrefreshing 
*  Modern  Architecture,  Book  IX,  p.  436. 


292       SAVING  FEATURE  OF  BOSTON, 

as  a  table  of  logarithms.  Such  towns  have  no 
organic  structure.  They  are  all  extremities,  as 
if  the  human  being  was  made  up  only  of  arms 
and  legs,  and  his  sole  function  to  get  about  at 
right  angles.  The  saving  feature  of  Boston  is 
that  it  has  a  heart,  head,  and  lungs,  as  well  as  ex- 
tremities. We  refer  to  our  towns  in  this  connec- 
tion, because  the  absence  of  taste  and  inventive 
thought  in  laying  them  out  is  at  the  root  of  cor- 
responding weaknesses  in  architecture.  "  It  is  in 
vain  to  urge,"  says  the  same  author,  "  the  prosaic 
ugliness  of  such  a  system  of  laying  out  towns,  or 
the  vices  of  the  way  our  architects  edit  buildings, 
after  the  free  manner  of  using  the  scissors  in 
making  up  a  newspaper,  when  there  is  no  feeling 
to  perceive  the  deformity  of  the  one,  or  knowledge 
to  comprehend  the  absurdities  of  the  other."  It 
will  be  a  healthful  symptom  of  progress  when  we 
are  willing  to  confess  our  deficiencies  and  seek 
remedies,  instead  of  endeavoring  to  disguise 
them  by  lauding  to  the  skies  buildings  styled 
architectural  by  those  who  erect  them,  but  which 
do  not  possess  the  first  principles  of  correct  taste 
or  beautiful  design.  Could  the  public  criticise 
these  edifices  with  the  same  warm  feeling  and 
appreciative  knowledge  that  is  applied  to  naval 
architecture,  we  should  soon  see  a  different  state 
of  things,  the  sooner,  because,  having  no  examples 
of  high  art  in  architecture  on  our  soil,  we  could 
more  rapidly  develop  a  style  of  our  own. 

When  our  people  were  seized  with  a  mania 
of  fine  buildings,  one  generation  ago,  their  taste 
turned  to  classical  models.    Although  the  men  of 


AMERICAN  CLASSICAL, 


293 


Athens  to  whom  Paul  spoke  might  not  have  viewed 
the  buildings  we  call  Grecian  with  the  same  admi- 
ration which  was  bestowed  on  them  here,  put  as 
they  are  to  uses  foreign  to  their  spirit,  and  debased 
by  utilitarian  details  and  changes  which  destroy 
their  true  character,  yet  our  builders  did  succeed 
in  erecting  tolerable  copies  of  the  Parthenon, 
and  temples  of  the  Doric,  Ionic,  and  Corinthian 
orders,  converted  into  nineteenth-century  banks, 
custom-houses,  colleges,  and  churches.  The  in- 
fluence of  these  examples  spread  like  wildfire 
over  the  country.  Cottages  were  hid  behind 
wooden  porticos,  while  lean  or  bisected  columns, 
lank  pilasters,  triangular  masses  of  framework 
dubbed  pediments,  rioted  everywhere,  upheld  by 
a  fervor  of  admiration  because  of  their  origin, 
which  now  to  look  back  upon  borders  on  the 
absurd.  It  was  indeed  an  invasion  of  Hellenic 
forms,  but  distorted  into  positive  ugliness  by  ig- 
norance of  their  meaning  and  want  of  taste  in 
their  application.  We  do  not  believe  that  Gre- 
cian architecture,  born  of  a  widely  different  race, 
country,  and  religion,  can  be  adapted  to  America. 
A  literal  copying  of  it  only  makes  it  appear  still 
more  misplaced ;  especially,  torn  as  it  is  from  high 
places  to  be  crowded  into  narrow  streets,  over- 
topped by  lofty  houses,  and  confronted  with  build- 
ings of  a  wholly  opposite  character.  Indeed,  the 
attempt  to  reconcile  it  to  our  purposes  was  so 
manifestly  preposterous  that  it  was  speedily  given 
up. 

Then  we  had  a  Gothic  flurry,  which  ended 
Btill  more  absurdly,  owing  to  entire  ignorance  of 


294 


AMERICAN  GOTHIC, 


the  forms  and  character  of  Gothic  architecture. 
The  Girard  College  and  old  United  States  Bank, 
at  Philadelphia,  and  the  United  States  Sub-Treas- 
ury, Wall  Street,  New  York,  could  indeed  in- 
struct the  public  eye  as  to  the  external  anatomy 
of  Grecian  temple  -  architecture,  but  the  build- 
ings that  were  erected  as  Gothic  outheroded 
Herod  in  their  defiance  of  its  instinctive  spirit. 
Anything  pointed,  having  a  parapet  or  towers 
with  obelisk-like  blocks  perched  about  them,  was 
palmed  off  as  Gothic.  The  churches  of  Boston 
built  a  score  or  more  years  ago,  and  the  Masonic 
Temple,  are  absurd  caricatures  and  wretched  paro- 
dies of  their  father-style.  Peaks  and  points  even 
invaded  our  domestic  architecture  with  a  wanton 
enthusiasm,  like  that  which  just  before  multiplied 
columns  and  pilasters  everywhere.  It  is  only 
necessary  to  state  the  fact,  for  individuals  to  select 
examples  of  either  architectural  folly  by  thousands 
in  every  State.  We  no  sooner  acquired  a  dim 
idea  that  ornament  was  needed,  than  builders 
turned  to  their  books,  and  made  an  indiscriminate 
raid  on  whatever  was  given  as  Gothic  or  Grecian, 
perverted  temple  and  church  to  false  uses,  wrenched 
old  forms  from  their  true  purposes  and  positions, 
and  stuck  our  houses  all  over  with  a  jumble  of  ill- 
applied  details,  degraded  to  one  low  standard  of 
masons'  or  carpenters'  work.  We  do  not  dispar- 
age the  mechanical  arts.  They  are  as  honorable 
as  they  are  useful.  Whenever  our  mechanics 
confine  themselves  to  those  utilitarian  arts  the 
knowledge  of  which  is  their  professional  study, 
they  make  their  work  as  perfect  of  its  kind  as 


OUR  BUILDERS. 


295 


that  of  any  other  people.  But  when  they  seek 
to  superadd  beauty,  a  new  principle  comes  into 
play,  which  requires  for  its  correct  expression 
not  only  a  knowledge  of  aesthetic  laws,  but  a 
profound  conviction  of  their  value.  A  boat- 
builder  may  make  a  respectable  boat,  but  he  is 
not  the  man  our  merchants  would  intrust  to  model 
a  Sovereign  of  the  Seas.  So  a  master-mechanic 
may  plan  a  building  every  way  adapted  to  com- 
mon uses,  but  be  incompetent  to  erect  temples 
and  cathedrals,  or  even  a  bank  or  railway-sta- 
tion. 

Architecture  naturally  grows  out  of  the  wants 
and  ideas  of  a  people,  and  its  ornamentation 
should  be  in  harmony  with  them.  Our  Grecian 
and  Gothic  manias  were  nothing  of  this  kind. 
Their  forms  were  simply  old  fashions,  of  foreign 
origin,  made  ridiculous  by  ignorant  application, 
just  as  a  savage  with  new-found  trousers  is  as 
likely  to  put  his  arms  through  the  legs  as  to  wear 
them  properly.  We  laugh  at  the  mistake  of  the 
savage,  but  tens  of  thousands  of  buildings  in  Amer- 
ica betray  an  ignorance  of  the  elementary  princi- 
ples of  architecture  quite  as  great  as  that  of  the 
wild  Indian  of  the  uses  of  a  white  man's  garment. 
In  this  relation  stands  the  placing  steeples  astride 
of  porticos,  or  thrusting  spires  and  domes  appar- 
ently through  roofs,  and  sticking  pinnacles  and  pil- 
lars anywhere  and  everywhere,  without  regard  to 
their  true  meaning  and  uses  ;  the  breaking  up  and 
confusing  Grecian  horizontal  lines  with  Gothic 
angular  and  pointed,  in  an  attempt  to  unite  two 
antagonistic  styles  which  can  no  more  mingle 


2D6 


Om  IMITATIONS, 


than  oil  and  water ;  and,  the  climax  of  solecism, 
trying  to  put  the  new  wine  of  American  life  into 
the  old  bottles  of  departed  civilization.  Copying 
does  not  necessarily  imply  falsity.  Imitators 
occasionally  gave  us  clever  examples  of  their 
originals,  like  the  Doric  portico  of  the  Tremont 
House,  Boston,  and  the  circular  colonnade  of  the 
Exchange,  of  Philadelphia ;  but,  in  general,  the 
whole  system  of  imitation  is  simply  a  subter- 
fuge to  avoid  thought  and  study.  Although  it 
may  be  carried  out  at  times  with  good  taste,  it 
is  essentially  extraneous  art,  like  a  foreign  lit- 
erature, the  delight  of  a  learned  few,  but  having 
no  root  in  the  ideas  and  affections  of  the  people. 
The  classical  and  Gothic  phases  of  building  of 
the  past  generation  had  no  germinating  force, 
because  they  were  not  the  vernacular  speech,  but 
only  dead  tongues  and  obsolete  characters  gal- 
vanized into  a  spasmodic  life  by  transitory  fash- 
ion. Since  then,  though  there  have  been  no 
more  repetitions  of  Grecian  architecture  on  a 
large  scale,  we  have  had  some  better  imitations 
of  mediaeval  Gothic,  especially  for  ecclesiastical 
purposes,  and  with  a  truer  expression  of  its  inten- 
tion. New  York  city  furnishes  conspicuous  ex- 
amples of  copies  of  several  of  its  styles,  as  well  as 
of  early  Italian,  a  mode  which  has  been  followed 
elsewhere,  both  for  civic  and  commercial  pur- 
poses, not  to  enumerate  the  attempts  to  adapt  it 
to  domestic  architecture. 

The  question  of  its  adaptability  to  every  need 
of  modern  life  is  not  one  easily  decided.  But 
the  underlying  spirit  of  the  Gothic,  namely,  the 


GOTHIC  ADAPTABILITY,  297 


right  of  free  growth  as  of  nature  herself,  borrow- 
ing from  her  the  models  or  forms  into  which  it 
incarnates  its  fundamental  ideas,  the  same  as  veg- 
etation, although  of  one  great  family  in  relation 
to  the  planet,  yet  adapts  itself,  by  an  infinitude  of 
beautiful  shapes,  to  every  variety  of  soil,  —  this 
spirit,  we  think,  coexisting  with  nature  herself, 
is  capable  of  responding  to  every  architectural 
desire.  If  this  be  a  correct  view  of  the  Gothic 
idea,  the  mediaevalists,  so  far  from  having  ex- 
hausted its  scope  and  variety  of  application, 
have  left  us  only  on  the  threshold  of  its  power. 
Grecian  architecture  was  a  perfect,  organic,  disci- 
plined whole,  limited  in  intent,  and  condensed 
into  a  defined  aesthetic  code,  outside  of  which  it 
could  not  range  without  detriment  to  its  rule  of 
being.  Gothic,  on  the  contrary,  has  no  settled, 
absolute  boundaries.  Its  essence  is  freedom  of 
choice,  to  the  intent  to  attain  diversity  of  feature. 
Hence  it  is  both  flexible  and  infinite  in  character, 
affording  working-room  for  every  intellectual  and 
spiritual  faculty.  The  sole  limit  of  its  being  is 
the  capacity  of  invention  and  adaptation  of  the 
workman.  We  perceive  that  he  was  never  con- 
ventional. He  might  be  rude,  grotesque,  wild,  or 
wonderful,  but  the  free  play  given  individual 
fancy  saved  the  Gothic  from  sameness  and  repe- 
tition. Genuine  Gothic  buildings  of  every  class 
possess  as  marked  individuality  of  expression  as 
the  human  countenance,  because  in  each  the  hu- 
man soul,  animated  to  excel,  and  vary  what  had 
been  already  done,  is  permitted  free  expansion  of 
character.    Its  novel  and  beautiful  doings  are  a 


298 


GOTHIC  INDIVIDUALITY, 


perpetual  surprise  and  delight,  overflowing  with 
exhaustless  poetry  and  spiritual  joy.  In  fijie,  be- 
lieving Gothic  architecture  to  represent  and  be 
founded  upon  the  fundamental  ideas  of  natural 
and  spiritual  freedom  which  are  born  of  Chris- 
tianity, we  can  limit  its  adaptation  to  human 
wants  only  by  the  power  of  the  gospel  to  make 
men  free  and  wise,  and  its  variety  and  quality 
of  expression  only  by  the  variety  and  quality  of 
Christian  life.  Therefore,  in  whatever  nation  the 
promise  of  these  is  the  highest,  there  may  we 
look  for  the  highest  types  of  this  architecture. 

But  the  present  question  is  confined  to  our 
varied,  mongrel,  generally  mean,  and  rarely  good 
imitations  or  copies  of  its  past  features.  The  fact 
that  we  are  sufficiently  advanced  in  our  apprecia- 
tion to  borrow  them  for  church  edifices  augurs 
well  for  its  future  career  among  an  inventive  peo- 
ple, and  it  does  noble  service  to  the  principle  of 
worship,  by  rescuing  it  from  styles  which  are 
permeated  by  sensual,  sensuous,  or  sordid  influ- 
ences The  interiors  of  too  many  fashionable 
churches  are  planned  to  suit  the  luxurious  re- 
quirements of  modern  disciples  of  Jesus,  with 
every  facility  for  corporeal  ease  and  none  for 
spiritual  watchfulness ;  while  not  a  few  are  no 
better  than  a  hybrid  union  of  Mammon  and 
Sectarianism,  preaching  and  singing  above,  be- 
low, magazines  of  merchandise  or  a  "  depot " 
of  ice-cream,  of  which  we  have  had  a  notable 
instance  in  one  of  the  most  conspicuous  meeting- 
houses in  Boston.  A  plagiary  which  redeems 
sacred  buildings  from  such  incongruous  uses  is 


EXOTIC  GOTHIC. 


299 


a  cause  of  thankfulness,  for  it  shows  that  we 
have  got  a  step  beyond  the  notion,  that,  be- 
cause a  building  or  a  portion  of  it  is  beautiful,  it 
is  desirable  to  repeat  it  without  regarding  the 
original  intent,  thus  degrading  architecture  from 
a  creative  to  an  imitative  process,  and  putting  its 
forms  upon  a  level  with  the  copies  of  old  masters 
which  are  imported  by  thousands  as  furniture-dec- 
oration for  our  walls.  The  buildings  we  fix  in 
our  streets  are  like  so  many  Old- World  cousins 
come  over  on  a  visit,  not  having  had  time  as  yet 
to  get  other  naturalization  than  Yankee  sharpness 
and  awkwardness  of  outline.  We  are  glad  to 
see  them,  though  they  bluntly  tell  us  that  we 
have  many  master-builders  but  no  Giottos.  It 
is  encouraging,  however,  to  begin  to  have  a  taste 
for  what  Giotto  loved,  though  unable  to  create 
art  in  his  spirit.  In  his  day  men  created  art. 
That  is  to  say,  they  invented,  designed,  and  com- 
posed with  reference  to  home  thoughts  and  needs. 
True  architecture  is  not  what  so  many  fancy, 
simply  ornamental  building,  but,  as  Fergusson 
emphatically  observes,  the  accumulated  creative 
and  constructive  powers  of  several  minds  harmo- 
niously working  out  a  great  central  idea.  Every- 
thing is  designed  from  a  penetrative  insight  into 
its  latent  meaning,  with  reference  to  a  certain 
position  and  use.  The  best  men  of  each  craft 
that  enters  into  its  constructive  expression,  paint- 
ers, sculptors,  carvers,  moulders,  stainers  of  glass, 
mosaicists,  masons,  carpenters,  the  very  hodmen, 
all  labor  in  unity  of  feeling  for  the  one  great  ob- 
ject, which  becomes  to  them  the  incarnated  ambi- 


300 


GOTHIC  ECLECTICISM. 


tion  of  their  lives,  and  into  which  enters  a  variety 
of  language,  fact,  and  feeling,  having  a  word  to 
all  men,  and  commensurate  with  the  harmonious 
variety  of  human  capacity  when  stimulated  to  its 
fullest  power.  Not  before  we  appreciate  the 
possibilities  of  architecture  in  a  grand  combina- 
tion of  the  intellectual  and  spiritual  faculties, 
aroused  to  action  by  the  deepest  emotions,  can  we 
expect  to  create  work  to  rival  that  of  olden  time. 
That  was  the  product  of  many  brains.  A  me- 
diseval  cathedral  was  a  miniature  commonwealth. 
Embracing  in  its  erection  and  purposes  an  entire 
community,  the  very  names  of  the  designers  finally 
become  lost  in  the  edifice.  They  did  not  think 
of  a  monument  to  themselves,  but  of  a  monu- 
ment worthy  of  their  faith  and  lineage.  Gradu- 
ally the  system  changed.  Architecture  dwindled 
to  the  business  of  a  class.  What  had  been  the 
care  and  joy  of  a  people  was  delegated  to  a  pro- 
fessional one.  A  great  structure  no  longer  grew^ 
but  was  made  by  contract.  The  old  men 
thought  only  how  they  should  construct  the  best 
possible  building  for  the  intended  purpose.  The 
new  man,  now  architect  by  distinction,  designed 
the  whole,  and  he  alone,  not  the  buildings,  grew 
famous.  The  public  copyrighted  his  work  for 
him.  Instead  of  the  ever  -  increasing  variety  of 
Gothic  forms,  there  was  a  monotony  of  one  man's 
talents.  In  England,  Inigo  Jones  and  Wren  for 
centuries  held  almost  supreme  sway.  In  Italy, 
Alberti,  Brunelleschi,  Michel  Angelo,  Palladio, 
Sansovino,  and  their  scholars  dominated  the  pub- 
lic taste.   Indeed,  Italy,  after  the  Gothic  freedom 


EENAISSANT  ARCHITECTS.  801 


of  hand  and  thought  died  out,  in  the  persons  of 
her  architects  virtually  made  a  conquest  of  Eu- 
rope, not  absolute,  but  enough  to  show  the  force 
of  mere  fame,  and  the  injury  to  originality  by  the 
supremacy  of  a  system  which  concentrated  into 
the  hands  of  a  single  man  what  had  been  suffi- 
cient for  ages  before  to  employ  the  entire  ener- 
gies of  many.  The  fatal  effect  upon  architecture 
was  not  immediately  perceived,  for  the  men  of 
genius,  having  lofty  conceptions  and  noble  aims, 
invented  new  combinations  suited  to  the  new  era 
of  European  life.  But  their  followers  either  were 
incapable  of  this,  or  else  they  were  seduced  to 
display  their  learned  adroitness  or  tempted  by 
sordid  views.  Their  work  speedily  degenerated 
into  mechanical  conventionalism,  based  upon  the 
ideas  and  inventions  of  their  predecessors.  It 
could  not  be  otherwise  ;  for  to  no  one  person  is 
given  the  power  of  revolution,  any  more  in  art 
than  in  government.  External  change  must  be 
predicated  on  the  growth  of  fundamental  ideas 
and  the  cooperative  magnetism  of  multitudes. 
Architecture  delegated  to  a  professional  priest- 
hood had  lost  its  power  of  growth.  It  had  but 
one  step  lower  to  fall.  Having  ceased  to  be  prac- 
tised to  develop  beauty,  it  passed  into  the  keep- 
ing of  tasteless,  superficial  professors,  who,  having 
enslaved  art  to  vulgar  sentiments,  in  turn  easily 
became  the  slaves  of  ignorant  patrons,  in  whose 
minds  utilitarian  or  egotistical  considerations 
reigned  paramount.  The  old  men  would  have 
scorned  such  bondage.  If  they  had  not,  their 
public,  appreciating  the  dignity  of  architecture, 


302 


MODERN  GOTHIC. 


although  ignorant  of  so  much  that  the  nineteenth 
century  considers  school-education,  would  have 
scorned  them. 

The  largest  and  most  expensive  of  our  public 
buildings  are  at  Washington.  If  the  nation  pos- 
sess no  architecture  of  its  own  at  its  capital,  it  is 
not  owing  to  any  stint  of  pecuniary  stimulus,  but 
to  the  causes  already  mentioned.  The  Smithsonian 
Institute  is  an  example  of  a  solitary  effort,  on  an 
extended  scale,  to  introduce  into  the  chief  city 
of  the  Union  a  species  of  modernized  Norman 
style  suited  to  scientific  uses.  It  represents 
an  abbey  church  of  the  eleventh  century  in 
plan,  but  gives  nothing  new  or  beautiful  by  way 
of  modern  adaptation,  and  so  must  be  classed 
among  the  blundering  imitations  of  mediaevalistic 
architecture  which  have  so  numerously  over- 
spread the  land  with  corruptions,  very  often  in 
wood,  of  the  several  styles  of  Gothic  known  as 
Tudor,  Elizabethan,  Flamboyant,  Perpendicular, 
Castellated,  and  are  now,  for  variety's  sake, 
invading  the  Lombard,  Tuscan,  Romanesque, 
Pisan,  and  German.  Of  the  other  public  build- 
ings it  is  not  necessary  to  speak,  because  they  are 
even  more  unfortunate  debasements  of  Old- World 
prototypes.  The  classical  feeling  rules  at  Wash- 
ington. It  is  better  suited  to  its  chess-board  out- 
lines than  the  Gothic.  Indeed,  a  true  Palatial 
style,  such  as  its  eminent  Italian  originators  com- 
posed out  of  the  Roman  and  Grecian  architect- 
ure, would  suit  well  with  the  purposes  of  the 
national  capital.  Leon  Battista  Alberti,  Palla- 
dio,  or  Sir  Christopher  Wren,  would  have  rejoiced 


CAPITOL  AT  WASHINGTON,  303 


in  the  opportunity  which  Washington  affords  for 
a  display  of  the  finest  qualities  of  the  Renais- 
sance. Either  one  could  have  created  a  city  to 
be  proud  of.  But  the  only  building,  thus  far, 
which  answers  in  a  respectable  degree  to  the 
lofty  and  elegant  spirit  of  that  composite  style,  is 
the  Capitol.  Before  its  recent  enlargement  it 
was  in  many  features  beautiful ;  but  its  simplicity 
of  external  detail  and  general  symmetry  have 
been  marred  by  the  disproportionate  height  of 
the  florid  cast-iron  dome,  and  the  crushing  effect 
it  has,  placed  upon  the  roof  of  an  edifice  com- 
plete and  beautiful  without  it,  and  whose  slender, 
detached  columns,  whether  of  the  portico  or  peri- 
style, seem  illy  calculated  to  sustain  the  immense 
weight  that  towers  above.  A  tall  dome  is  of 
itself  a  delightful  feature,  full  of  majesty  and  dig- 
nity, and  has  been  used  by  men  of  the  calibre  of 
Brunelleschi,  Michel  Angelo,  Wren,  and  Man- 
sard, with  powerful  effect,  as  may  be  seen  in  the 
Duomo  of  Florence,  St.  Peter's  at  Rome,  St. 
Paul's  at  London,  and  the  Hotel  des  Invalides 
at  Paris.  But  even  with  these  examples,  and 
borrowing  their  architecture  entirely  from  Eu- 
rope, the  projectors  of  the  Capitol  have  failed  in 
harmoniously  uniting  the  two  great  parts  of  the 
edifice. 

The  Washington  Monument,  apart  from  the 
extraordinary  portico  of  pillars  contemplated  in 
the  original  design,  is  a  lofty  idea,  borrowed  in 
motive  from  the  Greek  phallus^  and  identified  with 
Egypt's  history  under  the  form  of  her  obelisks. 
As  old  as  the  earliest  dawn  of  civilization,  the 


304  WASHINGTON  MONUMENT, 


symbolism  of  this  form  of  a  monument  is  not 
inappropriately  applied  to  the  Father  of  his  Coun- 
try ;  and  as  his  moral  grandeur  overtops  that  of 
every  other  soldier  and  statesman,  it  is  fitting  that 
his  monument  should  pierce  the  skies.  Equally 
significant  of  uncompromising  Puritanism  is  the 
stern  nakedness  of  the  Bunker-Hill  shaft.  But 
in  neither  of  them  is  there  anything  of  a  monu- 
mental character  born  of  American  invention. 

Another  style  of  foreign  origin  is  making 
progress  in  America,  knovm  as  the  French  Re- 
naissant,  of  which  the  new  City  Hall,  Boston,  is  an 
example.  Destitute  of  the  ornate  richness  of  its 
prototype,  it  gives  no  adequate  conception  of  it 
except  in  making  conspicuous  its  specific  defects, 
and  is  stilted  and  forced  compared  with  the  best 
Italian  Renaissant  style.  Cut  up  and  overladen 
with  alternate  courses  of  tall  and  stunted  pilas- 
ters having  nothing  to  do,  its  ornamentation  a 
meagre  theft  of  classical  orders,  or  a  meaningless 
exhibition  of  horizontal  or  perpendicular  lines  and 
the  simplest  geometrical  forms,  robbing  the  build- 
ing of  simplicity  without  giving  it  dignity,  there 
is  not  a  single  element  of  original  thought  in  it. 
Architects  who  design  buildings  of  this  character 
are  mere  parasites  of  art,  obstructing  natural  and 
tasteful  growth,  and  impeding  the  right  men  from 
being  felt  and  heard.  A  city  given  over  to  their 
hands,  so  far  as  indigenous  development  of  art  is 
concerned,  becomes  a  mean  sham.  If  we  do  not 
speedily  outgrow  the  present  system  of  erecting 
public  edifices,  they  will  be  so  many  monuments 
of  our  moral  and  intellectual  dulness,  instead  of, 


CITY  HALL,  BOSTON. 


305 


as  they  might  be,  the  incarnation  of  vivifying 
thoughts  and  new  shapes  of  beauty.  It  is  to 
be  conceded  that  the  City  Hall  is  imposing  from 
its  height,  and  attractive  from  the  bright  solidity 
of  its  material,  though  the  use  of  granite  for  the 
fine  and  free  carving  required  in  the  Corinthian 
order  is  a  waste  of  money  and  hard  labor  not  to 
be  commended.  But  the  building  cannot  be  too 
strongly  condemned  on  account  of  the  entire  want 
of  keeping  of  the  conspicuous  rear  portion  with  its 
front  and  sides.  The  least  that  the  architect 
ought  to  have  done  was  to  make  that  conform  to 
the  remainder  of  the  edifice.  Instead,  it  would 
appear  as  if,  tired  of  his  work  by  the  time  he 
arrived  at  the  farther  angles,  he  gave  it  to  his 
youngest  office  -  boy  to  finish,  who,  at  a  loss  for 
what  to  put  in,  by  a  happy  thought  turned  to  one 
of  his  early  copy-books  in  writing  for  aid.  Open- 
ing to  the  page  which  precedes  the  pot-hook 
period,  he  espies  a  multitude  of  upright  lines. 
Eureka  !  "  He  marks  an  equal  number,  divided 
by  window-spaces,  all  over  the  great  wall-surface, 
and  at  last  we  have  an  original  American  style 
of  architecture.  Such  work  is  an  insult  alike  to 
those  who  pay  for  it  and  those  who  have  to  look 
at  it. 

But  meagre  imitation  does  not  wholly  bear 
sway.  There  is,  beside,  a  restless,  inquiring,  ex- 
perimentive  spirit,  approaching  the  inventive,  in 
our  building.  At  present  it  is  chaotic  and  capri- 
cious, with  an  imperfect  comprehension  of  beauty. 
Still,  it  is  an  active  instinct  seeking  something 
new.  Evidently  the  architects  are  called  upon  to 
20 


306 


BOSTON  ORGAN. 


vary  their  old  hole-in-the-wall  styles,  a  house 
being  a  brick  box  pierced  with  oblong  apertures, 
or  else  their  patrons  are  taking  the  matter  in  hand, 
and  with  a  crude,  experimentive  zeal  are  striking 
out  new  shapes  and  combinations.  Individuality, 
or  the  expression  of  personal  taste  in  architecture, 
is  a  spirit  to  be  encouraged ;  for  it  is  rooted  in 
the  freedom  of  choice  which  first  begat  rude 
Gothic  forms,  and  subsequently  developed  them 
into  ripe  beauty  and  infinite  variety.  We  could 
name  many  buildings  for  private  purposes  which 
manifest  this  spirit  of  new  life,  in  son^e  cases 
almost  arriving  at  the  grotesque,  and  frequently 
at  that  climax  of  bad  taste  known  in  Europe  tis 
rococo,  but  which  are  refreshing  to  view  because 
of  their  departure  from  old  conventionaKsms-  and 
servile  copying.  The  Boston  Organ  in  its  archi- 
tectural features  is  a  striking  example  of  rococo. 
The  organ,  being  essentially  a  Christian  instru- 
ment of  music,  requires  a  case  in  harmony  with 
its  spirit  and  purpose,  or,  if  put  into  any  other, 
the  details  should  be  kept  strictly  in  unity  with 
its  animating  spirit.  Instead  of  this,  we  have  an 
incongruous,  grotesque  whole,  made  up  of  details 
partly  taken  from  the  Christian  art-idea  and  part- 
ly from  the  Pagan,  gigantic  caryatides  and  classi- 
cal masks  intermixed  with  puny  Cupid-angels,  a 
feeble  St.  Cecilia,  and  inane  and  commonplace  or- 
namentations ;  fine  workmanship  throughout  sub- 
stituted for  fine  art;  and  the  entire  mass  made 
the  more  emphatic  in  its  offensiveness  by  its  want 
of  adaptation  to  the  size  and  aesthetic  character  of 
the  Hall  over  which  it  domineers  so  unpleasantly. 


INDIVIDUAL  TASTE, 


307 


Though  individual  taste  has  not  yet  accom- 
plished anything  worthy  of  perpetuation  or  to  be 
an  example  to  other  peoples,  still  recent  enter- 
prise is  eminently  suggestive  and  hopeful.  This 
new  movement  springs  from  a  rising  passion  for 
something  novel  and  beautiful  in  the  dwellings 
and  places  of  business  of  our  merchants.  They 
clamor  for  carving  and  color,  for  something  that 
expresses  their  taste  or  want  of  it.  Decoration 
is  not  wholly  left  to  the  architects.  People's 
hearts  being  with  their  treasures,  it  is  as  natural 
that  they  should  strive  to  embody  them  in  appro- 
priate forms  as  that  the  medisevalist,  stimulated  by 
his  hopes  of  heaven  and  fears  of  hell,  should  put 
his  treasure  into  cathedrals  and  monasteries. 
The  estimation  in  which  our  merchants  hold  their 
stores  and  houses,  as  compared  with  their  churches 
and  civic  edifices,  is  fairly  shown  in  the  relative 
sums  expended  on  them.  Many  private  build- 
ings cost  far  more  than  public.  In  no  respect 
is  the*  contrast  between  the  spirit  of  the  medise- 
valist  and  the  modernist  more  striking  than  in 
their  respective  expenditures  on  their  sacred 
and  civic  architecture.  The  one  gloried  in  what- 
ever adorned  his  city  or  exalted  his  religion  in 
the  eyes  of  the  world;  the  other  reserves  his 
extravagance  for  private  luxury  and  the  exalta- 
tion of  the  individual  in  the  estimation  of  the 
community.  Not  a  few  dwelling-houses  are  built 
on  so  extravagant  a  scale,  compared  with  the 
needs  of  the  proprietor,  as  to  come  to  be  called, 
in  popular  talk,  such  a  one's  "  folly."  No  public 
building  has  ever  been  made  obnoxious  to  a  simi- 


808  FEELING  AFTER  BEAUTY, 

lar  term  on  account  of  lavishly  exceeding  its  uses 
and  appropriate  ornamentation,  though  millions 
of  dollars  have  been  profitlessly  buried  in  them 
by  the  machinations  or  peculations  of  unclean 
hands. 

Without  investigating  the  causes  of  the  differ- 
ences in  the  above  respects  between  the  merchant 
of  the  fourteenth  century  and  his  brother  of  the 
nineteenth,  or  enlarging  upon  their  social  conse- 
quences, we  feel  justified  in  stating  that  our  citi- 
zens have  entered  upon  a  phase  of  feeling  which 
prompts  them  to  love  display  in  their  marts  of 
business  and  their  homes ;  to  feel  after  beauty,  as 
the  untutored  mind  feels  after  God,  if  haply  it 
might  find  him.  We  hail  this  as  a  fruitful  prom- 
ise of  final  development  of  fresh  architectural 
forms,  which  shall  make  our  century,  before  its 
completion,  a  fit  companion  in  aesthetic  progress 
to  any  one  that  has  preceded  it.  True,  the  mo- 
tive now  is  strictly  personal,  and,  therefore,  not  the 
highest.  But  give  man  liberty,  and  the  good  in 
him  is  ever  striving  to  assert  itself.  Already  we 
find  solid  and  handsome  blocks  of  stores,  in  more 
or  less  good  taste,  appropriate  to  their  purpose, 
effective  as  street-architecture,  and  novel  in  many 
of  their  features.  This  improvement  is  greatly 
owing  to  the  infusion  of  his  own  individuality,  and 
the  greater  latitude  the  merchant  gives  his  archi- 
tect in  designing  an  edifice  wliich  is  to  distin- 
guish his  business  than  committees  do  in  plans  of 
a  public  character.  So,  too,  with  dwelling-houses. 
Doubtless  we  have  as  bad,  perhaps  the  worst 
specimens  of  expensive  domestic  architecture  of 


PRIVATE  ARCHITECTURE.  309 

any  country.  Certainly,  nothing  more  mixed,  vul- 
gar, overdone  with  inappropriate  ornament,  me- 
chanical, presumptuous,  and  mannered,  can  be  found 
elsewhere.  At  the  same  time,  no  other  country 
affords  more  hopeful  indications  of  varied  styles  for 
domestic  purposes,  combining  the  modern  construc- 
tive and  utilitarian  requirements  with  the  privacy, 
refinement,  and  luxury  that  appertain  to  the  An- 
glo-Saxon ideas  of  home.  Boston,  which  is  so  poor 
in  public  buildings,  is  the  most  advanced  in  pri- 
vate architecture,  both  for  domestic  and  commer- 
cial uses.  If  more  regard  were  paid  to  specific 
fitness  and  beauty  in  details  and  a  better  dispo- 
sition and  harmony  of  masses,  Boston  might  be- 
come an  elegant  as  well  as  picturesque  city  ;  all 
the  sooner,  too,  if  her  citizens  would  admit  into 
public  edifices,  with  a  view  to  their  own  honor 
and  dignity,  lavish  adornment,  and  freedom  of  in- 
ventive design  similar  to  that  they  bestow  upon 
private  buildings.  In  Hammatt  Billings  they 
possess  an  architect  capable  of  fine  work.  The 
Methodist  Church,  on  Tremont  Avenue,  a  Gothic 
group,  the  Bedford  Street  Church,  and  the  ad- 
joining building  for  the  Mechanics'  Association, 
the  finest  public  architecture  Boston  has,  are  but 
meagre  examples  of  what  his  taste  could  do  if 
scope  were  given.  One  turns  instinctively  to 
the  Roman  Catholics  for  ecclesiastical  architect- 
ure commensurate  to  the  aesthetic  nature  of  their 
ritual.  But  the  Church  of  the  Immaculate  Con- 
ception is  an  agglomeration  of  the  worst  faults  of 
the  most  debased  types  of  architecture.  Exter- 
aally,  it  presents  a  sort  of  jumble  of  the  fashions 


310 


PURITAN  PROGRESS. 


in  which  we  build  factories  and  jails,  with  much 
vicious  and  misplaced  ornamentation,  or  what  is 
meant  as  such,  but,  as  applied,  resulting  in  absolute 
ugliness.  Internally,  it  has  the  air  of  a  bank  and 
cafe  in  its  staring,  hard,  common  look ;  no  relig- 
ious repose,  abundance  of  sham  decoration,  and 
not  one  gleam  of  real  spiritual  significance.  It  is 
inconceivable  how  a  sect  with  so  much  feelina: 
in  general  for  religious  art,  and  so  liberal  in  their 
contributions,  should  have  erected  a  building  for 
a  sacred  purpose,  which  violates  so  preposterously 
the  aesthetic  spirit  and  aim  of  their  faith.  Stran- 
ger still  is  it  that  a  Puritan  sect,  "  Orthodox  up  to 
the  hub,"  as  we  were  told  by  one  of  its  mem- 
bers, should  have  built  the  Shawmut  Church,  on 
Tremont  Avenue.  The  style  is  early  Lombard, 
somewhat  meagrely  carried  out,  with  slight  modi- 
fications for  special  purposes.  But  its  distinctive 
features  are  essentially  anti-Puritan  and  of  Roman 
Catholic  origin.  These  are  the  detached,  massive, 
lofty  clock-tower,  or  campanile,  which  makes  so 
conspicuous  an  object  in  the  air-line  of  the  city ; 
the  superabundance  of  stained  glass,  causing  the 
interior  to  sparkle  with  brilliant  colors,  and  ren- 
dering it  fervid  with  spiritual  symbolism ;  its  low- 
toned  frescoed  walls  and  grandly  treated  roof,  its 
harmonious  adaptation  of  aesthetic  taste  and  de- 
sign to  the  requirements  of  Protestant  worship, 
and  chiefly  the  numerous  carved  crosses  on  the 
outer  walls,  and  credat  Judceus,  surmounting  the 
very  church,  astounding  innovations,  but  sur- 
passed by  that  climax  of  religious  horror  to  Cal- 
vinists,  placed  over  and  above  the  pulpit,  the 


SHAWMUT  CETTRCE,  BOSTON,  311 


crucified  Saviour  in  stained  glass,  answering  to 
the  crucifix  of  the  Komanists.  The  persecuting 
Saul  of  art  among  the  prophets  !  Puritanism  ar- 
raying itself  after  the  fashion  of  the  scarlet  lady 
of  the  seven-hilled  Babylon  !  Is  not  this  a  change 
of  sentiment  worthy  of  historical  note?  The 
gentleman  who  assured  us  that  the  church  was 
Orthodox  up  to  the  hub  also  added  that  at  first 
he  did  not  like  these  innovations  on  their  old  sys- 
tem of  whitewash  and  absence  of  all  beauty,  but 
had  come  to  like  them.  He  will  find,  later,  that 
what  he  now  likes  will  become  indispensable,  for 
it  is  the  unlocking  of  a  divine  faculty  which  has 
been  long  closed  in  his  sect  through  misappre- 
hension of  its  true  nature.  And  the  example  of 
the  Shawmut  Church  is  a  striking  and  unlooked- 
for  illustration  of  the  rapid  growth,  in  this  instance 
revolutionary  in  its  abrupt  force,  of  sesthetic  taste 
in  America,  confirming  in  a  welcome  manner 
our  theory  of  its  eventual  destiny. 

We  do  not  purpose,  however,  to  criticise  in  de- 
tail, but  to  point  out  the  general  grounds  of  our 
faith  in  the  aesthetic  future  of  our  architecture. 
Its  foundation  is  the  variety  of  taste  and  freedom 
of  inventive  experiment  shown  by  private  enter- 
prise. If  a  knowledge  of  the  fundamental  princi- 
ples of  architecture  equalling  the  zeal  displayed  in 
building  could  be  spread  among  all  classes,  a  bet- 
ter order  of  things  would  soon  appear.  To  this 
end,  we  condense  from  the  best  authorities  a  num- 
ber of  axioms  or  truths,  which,  once  comprehended 
by  the  public,  will  go  a  great  way  to  counteract 
bad  work. 


312  LAWS  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


Pugin  tells  us,  "  The  two  great  rules  for  design 
are :  First,  that  there  should  he  no  features  about  a 
building  which  are  not  necessary  for  convenience, 
construction,  and  propriety  ;  Secondly,  that  all  or- 
nament should  consist  of  enrichment  of  the  essen- 
tial construction  of  the  building ; "  and  adds  that 
the  neglect  of  these  two  rules  is  the  cause  of  all 
the  bad  architecture  of  the  present  time. 

Another  English  authority  who  treats  architect- 
ure comprehensively,  J.  B.  Atkinson,*  sums  up 
its  living  principles  somewhat  as  follows  :  — 

Construction  (or  use)  is  the  ground  or  root  out 
of  which  decoration  (delight)  should  germinate. 
It  is  the  bone,  marrow,  muscle,  and  nerve  of  ar- 
chitecture as  a  decorative  art.  Architecture  is  ca- 
pable of  any  variety  and  expression,  based  on  the 
above  principle. 

Construction  must  be  decorated ;  not  decora- 
tion constructed. 

Decoration  must  accord  with  conditions  of  situ- 
ation, fitness,  and  use. 

Each  genuine  style  of  architecture  demands  a 
corresponding  type  of  ornamentation.  Specific 
types  grow  out  of  cognate  forms  in  the  outer 
world,  so  that  decorative  art  becomes  intimately 
or  remotely  the  ofispring  of  nature. 

Decoration  is  not  only  the  reproduction  of 
external  form,  but  also  the  representative  of  in- 
ward ideas,  the  symbol  of  thought  and  fancy, 
and  the  earnest  expression  of  faith.  Conse- 
quently, decoration  has  a  distinctive  character 
and  is  subject  to  classification,  as  naturalistic, 
*  Fine  Arts  Quarterly  Review^  London,  No.  2. 


LAWS  OF  ARCHITECTURE.  313 


idealistic,  symbolistic,  geometric,  and  descriptive 
or  illustrative. 

Naturalistic  decoration  should  accord  with  natu- 
ral forms  and  conform  to  the  principles  of  organic 
growth.  The  flower  or  leaf  should  represent  its 
natural  qualities  or  organic  structure  ;  so,  too,  of 
birds,  animals,  etc. ;  of  which  the  public  can  see 
some  fine  examples  of  carving  by  workmen  after 
nature  in  Central  Park,  New  York,  a  beginning 
in  the  right  direction,  and  there  to  be  contrasted 
with  conventional  or  the  architects'  work,  from 
similar  subjects. 

Idealistic  ornament  is  usually  natural  forms 
subjected  to  the  control  of  some  governing  idea. 
It  may  be  conventional  or  creative  ;  the  one  ex- 
treme tending  to  mannerism,  the  other  to  ex- 
travagance. 

Allied  in  certain  points  to  idealistic  is  symbolic 
ornament,  or  the  outward  manifestation  by  form 
of  an  inward  thought  or  abstract  truth. 

Geometric  ornament  consists  only  of  the  sym- 
metric distribution  of  space  and  a  balanced  com- 
position of  lines,  pointing  to  a  central  unity  and 
radiating  into  erratic  variety.  The  Saracens, 
whose  religion  forbade  images,  were  the  masters 
of  this  style. 

Architecture  admits  also  of  descriptive,  histori- 
cal, and  pictorial  painting  on  wall-spaces  ;  also  of 
color,  to  enhance  the  effect  of  light  and  shade,  pro- 
duce relief,  and  add  emphasis  to  articulate  form, 
and  for  purpose  of  aesthetic  delight  generally. 

The  final  purpose  of  decoration  being  beauty 
to  promote  pleasurable  delight,  it  is  of  paramount 


314  LAWS  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


importance  that  every  design  or  detail  should  con- 
form to  aesthetic  laws. 

Every  style  must  be  judged  from  its  peculiar 
stand-point  of  principle  and  aim. 

In  fine,  architecture  is,  we  emphatically  repeat, 
the  materialistic  expression  of  the  life,  manners, 
needs,  and  ideas  of  a  people.  It  reflects  them; 
expands  and  develops  as  they  themselves  do.  En- 
dowed with  life  of  its  own,  it  is  Growth  ;  man's 
objective  creation  as  distinguished  from  nature  s. 


CHAPTEE  XYin. 

The  Art-Idea  is  the  Beautifier  of  Civilization.— Duty  of  In- 
dividuals. —  Central  Park  vs.  Harvard  College.  —  The  In- 
stitutions America  needs.  —  Selfishness  of  the  American 
"  Home."  —  The  Abuse  of  the  "  Family  "  Spirit.  —  New 
York.  —  Boston.  —  Mount  Auburn.  —  Puritan  Love  of 
Beauty.  —  How  Exhibited.  —  Street  -  Cars.  —  Shop  -  Win- 
dows. —  Manners.  —  What  Boston  enjoys.  —  What  she 
has  thrown  away.  —  Conclusion. 

HE  chief  expressions  in  America  of  the 
Art-Idea,  under  the  forms  of  Painting, 
Sculpture,  and  Architecture,  having  been 
succinctly  traced  to  their  present  conditions,  we 
perceive  a  steady,  and  of  late  a  rapid  advance  of 
each  in  quality  and  variety,  showing  that  the  un- 
folding of  the  art-idea  bears  fruit  in  objects  of 
taste  and  beauty,  suited  to  all  degrees  of  knowl- 
edge and  feeling.  True,  an  article  may  be  as 
useful  for  common  purposes  without  ornamenta- 
tion as  with  it ;  but  in  that  condition  it  is  a  cheap 
and  common  thing,  of  value  only  for  menial  ser- 
vice. Elevate,  however,  the  quality  of  any  tech- 
nic art,  whether  it  be  glass-making,  iron-work, 
tailoring,  or  even  cookery,  and  the  infusion  of  the 
aesthetic  element  refines  it  into  a  fine  art  in  de- 
gree, and,  by  putting  it  upon  the  level  of  the  intel- 
lectual sympathies,  converts  it  into  a  friend.  Art, 


316 


TEE  BEAUTIFIER. 


like  nature,  adds  so  much  to  enjoyment,  and  in  such 
manifold  ways,  that  we  do  not  recognize  the  full 
extent  of  our  obligations  to  her.  But  what  she 
has  done  is  as  nothing  compared  with  her  power 
in  reserve.  Every  good  picture,  statue,  or  bit  of 
architecture  is  one  more  joy  for  the  human  race. 
By  it  some  heart  is  touched,  some  imagination 
stirred,  or  some  spiritual  faculty  excited  to  activ- 
ity. The  end  and  aim  of  the  merely  useful  thing 
is  earthly  and  transitory ;  of  the  beautiful  thing, 
spiritual  and  eternal.  Keeping  in  view  the  fun- 
damental distinction  between  things  useful  and 
things  beautiful,  we  perceive,  that,  as  a  people  or 
as  individuals,  it  is  a  duty  incumbent  on  all,  in 
the  interests  of  civilization,  to  make  life  as  love- 
ly as  possible  in  manners,  dress,  and  buildings  ; 
to  adorn  our  homes,  streets,  and  pubhc  places  ;  in 
short,  to  infuse  beauty  by  the  aid  of  art  into  all 
objects,  and  to  make  unceasing  war  upon  whatever 
deforms  and  debases,  or  tends  to  ugliness  and 
coarseness.  He  who  is  not  prepared  to  serve  art 
with  unselfish  fervor  has  no  adequate  conception 
of  the  compass  and  requirements  of  the  art-idea. 

We  cannot  make  the  world  more  beautiful 
without  making  it  better,  morally  and  socially. 
The  art-idea  is  the  Beautifier,  an  angel-mes- 
senger of  glad  tidings  to  every  receptive  mind. 
Upwards  of  four  million  visitors  enjoyed  Central 
Park,  New  York,  the  last  year.  We  cite  the 
Park  as  an  example  of  the  carrying  out  of  the 
art-idea,  because,  beside  a  barren  site,  it  owes 
nothing  to  nature.  Art.  here  has  done  everything, 
even  to  nursing  and  training  nature  herself.  An 


CENTRAL  PARK. 


317 


institution  like  this,  combining  art,  science,  and 
nature  in  harmonious  unity,  is  a  great  free  school 
for  the  people,  of  broader  value  than  mere  gram- 
mar schools  ;  for,  besides  affording  pleasing  ideas 
and  useful  facts,  it  elevates  and  refines  the  popu- 
lar mind  by  bringing  it  in  intimate  contact  with 
the  true  and  beautiful,  under  circumstances  con- 
ducive to  happiness  and  physical  well-being.  What 
matter  if  it  should  cost  a  score  of  millions  of 
money  ?  Is  it  not  so  much  saved  from  prisons, 
priests,  police,  and  physicians  ?  By  it  bodies  are 
temporarily  rescued  from  dirt  and  misery,  and 
opportunities  given  the  eye  to  look  up  to  the  clear 
vaidt  of  heaven,  and  take  into  the  mind  the  heal- 
ing significance  of  nature  and  art.  In  many  it 
awakens  the  first  consciousness  of  their  spiritual 
birthright.  To  all  it  operates  as  a  magnetic 
charm  of  decent  behavior,  giving  salutary  lessons 
in  order,  discipline,  and  comeliness,  culminating 
in  mutual  good-will  and  a  better  understanding 
of  humanity  at  large,  from  its  democratic  inter- 
mingling of  all  classes,  under  quickening,  many- 
sided,  various  refinements  and  delights.  It  is, 
too,  a  far  cheaper  amusement  for  the  million 
than  theatres,  not  to  speak  of  the  exchange  of  foul 
air  for  pure,  noxious  gas-light  for  health-giving 
sunlight,  dubious  morality  and  nerve-exhausting 
incitements  for  glorious  music,  invigorating  games, 
boating,  and  exercise,  the  humanizing  sight  of 
merry  childhood,  the  zoological  and  horticultural 
gardens,  and,  lastly,  the  galleries  of  art,  science, 
and  history  soon  to  be  there,  enshrined  in  beauti- 
ful temples,  open  to  all  without  cost.    Why  not 


318  THE  UNIVERSAL  TEMPLE, 


add  one  more  temple  for  the  spiritual  wants,  fash- 
ioned in  the  choicest  forms  of  kindred  architect- 
ure, dedicated  to  the  universal  Father,  and 
consecrated  by  the  noblest  efforts  of  painting, 
sculpture,  music,  stained  glass,  mosaic,  and  every 
device  of  art  that  helps  lift  the  spirit  towards  its 
Maker?  A  cathedral  into  which  the  poor  and 
humble  could  freely  enter  to  disburden  their  over- 
laden hearts  in  silent  prayer;  one  where  the  sad 
and  weary  could  find  a  moment's  repose,  shut  out 
from  worldly  turmoil  and  trial,  and  the  glad  could 
utter  anthems  for  the  bounty  vouchsafed  to  them : 
a  cathedral  where  all  classes,  with  souls  attuned 
in  harmonious  devotion  and  gratitude,  could  min- 
gle in  democratic  equality  of  right-mindedness 
and  humanity  before  their  God ;  where  the  great 
vital  truths  of  Christianity,  that  tend  to  elevate 
manhood,  exorcise  the  demon  out  of  theology,  re- 
press priestcraft,  and  develop  the  charitable,  beau- 
tiful, tolerant,  and  practical  in  religion,  could  be 
preached  by  men  of  all  shades  of  opinion,  without 
hire  and  without  provoking  sectarian  strife,  emu- 
lous only  of  doing  their  "  Father's  business."  The 
present  tendency  of  sects  is  to  a  unity  of  religious 
purpose,  so  far  as  the  instincts  and  conclusions  of 
the  people  have  free  play.  The  marks  and  boun- 
daries that  keep  them  apart  are  more  of  the  clergy 
than  of  them.  But  caste  is  destined  to  go  down 
before  advancing  humanity,  and  the  garnish  of  the 
temple  to  be  held  cheaper  than  human  souls  or 
bodies.  An  edifice  dedicated  to  universal  piety, 
symbolizing  the  true  brotherhood  of  Christianity, 
might  be  made  the  grand  architectural  feature  of 


PEOPLE'S  UNIVERSITY,  319 


the  Park,  indeed,  of  the  city  itself.  It  would  be 
the  noblest  building  yet  designed  by  man,  con- 
secrated to  the  loftiest  purpose.  Beside  it  St. 
Peter's  would  be  mean  and  unworthy.  Freed 
from  the  tyranny  of  sect  and  caste,  it  would  be 
a  holy  example  of  that  perfect  toleration  which 
democratic  liberty  means,  and  a  living  proof  that 
in  religion,  as  in  our  politics,  the  lion  and  lamb 
can  lie  down  in  peace  together.  Above  all,  it 
would  dignify  the  purpose  of  Central  Park,  by 
making  it  something  better  than  a  mere  place  of 
amusement.  Combined  with  other  features,  it 
would  elevate  it  into  the  position  of  a  Univer- 
sity of  the  People,  leaving  no  human  aspiration 
for  the  good,  true,  and  beautiful  without  its 
teacher.  In  this  way  its  usefulness  would  be 
far  above  that  of  the  ordinary  colleges  of  our 
country,  stultified  as  they  are  by  pedantry  and 
substitution  of  the  husks  of  knowledge  for  ger- 
minating ideas.  We  might  as  well  compare  the 
ethereal  vault  of  heaven  to  the  tasteless  roofs  of 
the  brick  pens  of  Harvard  College,  as  attempt  to 
estimate  the  relative  benefit  to  mankind  of  these 
two  institutions  :  the  one  so  broad  and  beautiful, 
the  other  so  restricted  in  purpose  and  so  hope- 
lessly ugly  in  external  features.  None  but  the 
All-Seeing  can  tell  the  good  done  to  the  people  at 
large  by  the  joyous,  life-imparting  elements  of  in- 
struction of  the  Park,  and  the  actual  hindrance  to 
the  progress  of  sound  education  occasioned  by  the 
sluggish  conservatism  and  torpid  routine  of  the 
college."^ 

=^  See  Appendix,  Note  D. 


320 


BELIEVE  AND  DO, 


The  sore  need  of  our  people  is  not  more  insti- 
tutions to  protect  and  preserve  the  larvae  of 
learning  on  the  time-honored  system  of  substitut- 
ing the  anatomy  of  words  for  their  essence,  but 
those  which  will  most  widely  disseminate  ideas 
and  promote  the  happiness  of  the  masses.  The 
rich  provide  for  themselves.  If  what  they  wish 
is  not  at  one  place,  they  go  to  another.  Not  so 
with  the  vast  multitude,  who  are  the  bone,  mus- 
cle, acting  and  thinking  brain  of  the  nation,  de- 
ciding our  destinies  for  good  or  evil.  Give  them 
ideas,  and,  as  we  have  seen  in  our  leviathan  war, 
they  put  them  into  shape  and  press  them  home  to 
their  uttermost  conclusions.  The  national  brain 
has  been  heated  to  white-heat  in  the  strife,  puri- 
fying, expanding,  and  lifting  up  from  their  foul 
soil  the  great  democratic  truths,  heretofore  mis- 
used, which  underlie  our  nationality,  and  which 
under  happier  auspices,  if  we  remain  true  to 
them,  will  bear  us  on  to  a  degree  of  prosperity 
which  shall  be  an  example  and  a  wonder  to  the 
rest  of  the  earth.  Having  no  Past,  we  needs 
must  put  faith  in  our  Future.  Believe  in  great 
things,  and  we  shall  achieve  them.  This  can- 
not be  unless  each  individual  does  his  best,  ac- 
cording to  the  opportunity  given  him,  in  little 
things  or  great,  not  covetous  of  fame  or  profit,  but 
serving  the  people  as  he  is  called  upon  to  serve 
God,  with  his  whole  heart,  mind,  and  strength. 
Every  person  has  a  part  in  a  nation's  growth. 
As  the  war  draws  to  a  close,  the  more  intense 
need  of  preserving  and  perpetuating  the  public 
spirit  and  unity  of  feeling  it  has  called  forth,  for 


AMERICAN  HOME. 


321 


the  healing  of  its  wounds,  the  wise  deciding  of 
the  questions  which  it  has  given  birth  to,  and 
proving  to  the  world  that  God  has  not  intrusted 
in  vain  to  the  American  people  the  keeping  of 
his  law  of  freedom. 

In  one  direction  we  have  already  gone  far 
enough.  Anglo-Saxons,  in  their  one-sided  idea 
of  home,  are  becoming  selfish  and  unpatriotic.  A 
home  is  a  nursery  and  safeguard  of  domestic  vir- 
tue, a  protection  of  individuality,  lest  it  be  merged 
entirely  into  the  mass.  But  man's  selfhood  be- 
ing asserted  and  trained,  he  owes  allegiance  to 
the  community.  Home  is  indeed  the  primary 
school  of  life  and  the  sanctuary  of  its  affections. 
As  such  it  should  be  jealously  guarded.  We 
would  make  it  as  sacred  in  spirit  as  the  holy 
of  holies  of  the  Temple  itself.  But  any  virtue 
pushed  to  excess  becomes  a  vice.  An  American 
home  has  become  something  more  than  its  origi- 
nal intent.  It  distracts  the  individual  too  much 
from  mankind  at  large  ;  tempts  him  to  centre 
therein  wealth,  luxury,  and  every  conceivable 
stimulus  of  personal  ease,  pride,  and  display. 
The  tendency  is  to  narrow  his  humanity,  by  put- 
ting it  under  bonds  to  vanity  and  selfishness. 
The  family  is  made  an  excuse  for  neglecting  the 
lesponsibilities  of  citizenship.  As  with  trade, 
short-sighted,  he  forgets  that  the  welfare  of  the 
neighbor  in  the  code  of  Christian  ethics  is  put 
upon  the  par  with  one's  own,  and  that  as  he 
neglects  it,  the  State  drifts  towards  anarchy  and 
turmoil.  New  Yorkers  make  too  much  money 
to  care  whether  their  city  is  given  over  or  not  to 
21 


322  AMERICAN  FAMILY, 


scoundrelism.  They  pay  a  black-mail  to  villa- 
ny,  in  order  to  shirk  their  duties  as  citizens  and 
patriots,  to  make  money  as  traders,  or  luxuriate 
as  heads  of  fashionable  families.  Easy  enough 
to  see  where  this  will  end.  July  riots  are  the 
legitimate  results.  Put  a  bounty  upon  Catilines, 
pay  a  premium  for  murderers,  thieves,  drunkards, 
and  lecherites,  give  to  crime  the  honors  and  con- 
fidence due  to  virtue  only,  and  any  community 
must  reap  a  harvest  of  debasement.  Home  or 
business,  viewed  from  the  point  of  view  of  selfish- 
ness, becomes  a  curse  instead  of  a  blessing. 

The  family  is  the  first  step  of  civilization  ;  the 
community  or  nation  is  one  higher.  A  man  may 
make  himself  very  satisfactory  to  his  kin  by 
concentrating  on  them  his  time,  money,  and  en- 
ergies, to  increase  the  luxury  of  their  living,  or 
to  acquire  a  conventional  social  position  ;  in  short, 
to  promote  whatever  in  their  narrowness  of  un- 
*  derstanding  and  selfishness  of  purpose  makes  them 
most  conspicuous  or  fashionable.  But  such  in- 
dulgence tends  to  undermine  civic  virtue,  and  to 
foster  in  the  child  the  notion  that  self-acquisition 
is  the  great  object  of  society.  By  example  al- 
ways before  him  he  is  led  to  feel  that  the  indi- 
vidual must  prosper,  whatever  befalls  the  commu- 
nity. We  are  drifting  in  our  great  cities  in  the 
direction  of  internecine  convulsions.  The  chief 
ambition  is  to  outdo  one's  neighbor  in  riches 
or  position.  Listen  to  the  current  of  common 
talk,  and  note  how  it  sets.  Look  at  acts ;  see 
how  willingly  wealth  —  nay,  with  what  rival 
eagerness,  it  disgorges  its  coin  to  accumulate 


PUBLIC  SPIRIT. 


323 


within  exclusive  walls  treasures  of  art,  or  what- 
ever administers  to  pride  of  possession  or  isolated 
gratification,  and  how  little,  in  comparison,  does  it 
expend  for  the  common  good.  There  are  many 
exceptions  to  this  narrowness,  else  the  commu- 
nity would  fall  to  pieces  from  sheer  rottenness  of 
heart.  The  honor  in  which  they  are  held  is  the 
best  evidence  of  the  appreciation  of  the  people 
at  large  for  high-minded  conduct,  while  the  slight 
regard  they  have  for  the  pretence  of  public  spirit 
equally  proves  the  detective  magnetism  of  their 
moral  instincts.  Without  enlarging  further  on 
this  topic,  we  wish  to  press  upon  thoughtful 
minds  the  consideration  whether  there  is  not  in 
general  among  us  an  exaggeration  of  the  home 
feeling  amounting  to  a  corresponding  negation  of 
public  liberality,  which  it  would  be  well  to  tem- 
per with  somewhat  of  the  "  chez-moi  "  spirit  of 
the  French  race  ;  that  is  to  say,  their  man  lives 
more  in  his  nation  than  we  do,  but  is  at  home 
when  domestic  duties  or  pleasure  bid  him  to 
be.  By  cultivating  this  enlarged  idea  of  civiliza- 
tion he  enlarges  his  own  mind,  and  identifies  him- 
self accordingly  with  whatever  promotes  the  wel- 
fare, beauty,  or  glory  of  the  body  politic,  and 
prides  himself  therein,  and  consequently  is  ena- 
bled to  take  larger  views  of  great  questions 
affecting  the  human  race.  In  this  respect,  see 
how  French  inteUigence  is  ahead  of  English 
public  opinion,  how  much  quicker  it  is  moved, 
and  the  rapidity  of  its  perceptions,  even  in  the 
limited  action  tyranny  allows.  If  we  could  ex- 
pand the  low-toned  rivalry  of  individuals  for 


324 


PUBLIC  SPIRIT. 


wealth  and  power  into  a  generous  competition  of 
cities  and  states  in  the  growth  of  public  institu- 
tions and  the  founding  of  parks,  galleries  of  sci- 
ence and  art,  libraries,  fine  taste  in  architecture, 
schools  of  ideas,  and  whatever  dignifies  and  ad- 
vances human  nature  morally,  intellectually,  and 
a3Sthetically,  individuals  competing  with  one 
another  to  be  associated  in  noble  enterprises 
with  the  same  zeal  and  lavish  expenditure  they 
now  devote  to  excel  in  costly  houses,  equipages, 
dress,  and  the  gratification  of  appetites,  we  should 
shortly  see  the  true  golden  age  dawn.  We  are 
no  illusionist.  We  do  not  look  for  this  to- 
morrow, or  the  day  after.  But  there  are  young 
minds  to  be  formed  on  nobler  ideas  than  have 
yet  largely  obtained.  A  little  seed  dropped 
here  and  there  may  spring  up  into  vigorous  life. 
We  are  earnest  in  our  advocacy  of  a  larger 
measure  of  public  spirit ;  of  a  collective  local 
pride,  and  rivalry  in  good  works  ;  of  the  diminu- 
tion of  the  selfishness  of  the  home  feeling  by  the 
substitution  of  a  more  generous  sentiment,  ex- 
panding love  of  the  individual  into  a  love  of  the 
people. 

The  specific  axiom  of  our  topic  is  to  make  the 
world  as  beautiful  as  possible.  Coming  down 
from  the  general  idea  to  a  particular  locality,  by 
way  of  partial  illustration,  we  select  Boston,  be- 
cause, as  our  birthplace,  we  are  personally  inter- 
ested to  see  it  grow  in  beauty  ;  because  it  has 
already  an  enviable  historic  reputation  as  a  town 
of  ideas  and  action ;  because  its  population,  and 
that  of  New  England  generally,  is,  in  the  aggre- 


RESPECT  FOR  BEAUTY, 


325 


gate,  intelligent  and  liberal-minded  ;  and,  lastly, 
because,  in  addition  to  its  advantages  of  location, 
general  wealth,  and  culture,  it  has  great  need  to 
entertain  and  discuss  suggestions  of  an  aesthetic 
character.  Still,  whatever  is  applicable  to  one 
city  in  idea,  is  equally  so  to  all. 

We  wish  briefly  to  point  out  the  applicability 
of  the  art-idea  to  embellishment  of  the  city  and 
the  refinement  of  the  people,  showing  how  it 
enters  into  all  things,  and  how  much  beauty 
may  be  obtained  from  exercise  of  good  taste  and 
at  little  cost.  That  beauty  is  demanded,  the 
crude  efforts  to  obtain  it,  and  the  devotion  shown 
it  when  obtained,  sufficiently  demonstrate.  It 
would  not  be  difficult,  either,  to  prove  that  ex- 
actly in  the  degree  a  thing  is  beautiful  is  it  re- 
spected and  admired  by  the  masses  ;  and  that,  in 
a  population  like  that  of  Boston,  it  would  be  suf- 
ficient to  place  beautiful  objects  under  their  safe- 
guard to  have  them  as  much  respected  as  shrines 
in  Catholic  countries.  Respect  for  the  beautiful  is 
one  of  the  deepest  instincts  of  humanity.  When 
not  shown,  it  is  because  it  has  been  covered  up  by 
the  inhumanities  of  life  and  false  trainmg.  Even 
in  the  present  condition  of  public  sentiment  we 
believe  the  iron  fences  around  our  public  grounds 
and  lots  in  cemeteries  to  be  as  useless  as  they 
are  ugly  and  opposed  to  the  spirit  of  their  locali- 
ties. What  need  to  protect  public  property  from 
the  public,  or  the  sanctity  of  the  grave  by  the 
employment  of  materials  which  suggest  social  in- 
security and  exclusiveness,  disfigure  the  gi'ounds, 
and  add  vastly  to  the  expense,  diverting  money  to 


326 


OUR  CEMETERIES, 


dubious  uses  which  could  be  so  much  better  em- 
ployed in  adorning  the  spots  in  harmony  with 
their  true  purposes  ?  Mount  Auburn,  lovely  and 
spiritual  in  some  respects,  speaks  too  loudly  of 
property,  exclusion,  and  building,  things  of  the 
earth,  instead  of  the  symbolism  of  heaven.  The 
artistic  tone  of  the  cemetery  is  mechanical,  heavy, 
and  cold.  There  is  little  or  no  original  invention 
or  evidence  of  right  feeling  in  its  monuments, 
very  little  that  proclaims  Christian  faith.  A  phi- 
losopher of  no  creed  might  wander  long  about  it 
unable  to  decide  whether  the  pagan,  pantheistic 
spirit,  the  mere  mercantile,  practical,  or  skeptical 
modern  feeling,  the  sectarian  sentiment,  or  the 
family  desire  to  honor  the  dead,  predominated. 
He  would  see  a  great  display  of  names,  not  un- 
frequently  conjoined  after  the  manner  of  mercan- 
tile firms,  and  an  immense  expenditure  in  iron 
and  stone  guiltless  of  aesthetic  taste  and  religious 
significance  except  in  rare  instances ;  much  bas- 
tard pagan  and  classical  design,  a  general  vague- 
ness and  incongruity  between  purpose  and  execu- 
tion, and  a  sameness  and  poverty  of  epitaph  that 
would  puzzle  him  exceedingly  to  decide  upon  the 
faith  or  character  of  those  there  buried.  The 
vdsh  which  prompts  making  our  cemeteries  lovely 
for  the  living  is  the  right  one.  As  yet,  however, 
whenever  they  are  pretentious  and  expensive,  like 
Mount  Auburn  and  Greenwood,  they  fail  in  spir- 
itual essentials  and  proprieties.  The  more  simple 
and  rural  ones,  of  which  Forest  Hills,  at  West 
Roxbury,  is  a  pleasant  example,  accord  better 
with  theii*  fundamental  motives. 


AMERICAN  ART-FACULTY.  327 


Returning  from  the  tombs  to  the  living,  we 
trace  in  the  moving  panorama  of  the  streets  of 
Boston  evidence  of  a  rapidly  increasing  feeling 
for  beauty.  Not  long  since  few  thought  it  expe- 
dient in  their  dwellings  or  business  to  give  any 
heed  to  the  cry  for  the  beautiful.  Indeed,  so  en- 
tirely dormant  was  the  sesthetic  faculty  that  the 
general  conclusion  in  regard  to  it  was  that  none 
existed  in  the  descendants  of  Puritans.  But  the 
signs  now  are  that  it  is  as  deep-seated  in  the 
human  race  in  New  England  as  ever  it  was  in 
Greece  or  Italy.  We  mean  the  latent,  innate 
love  of  the  beautiful.  The  mere  fact  of  its  non-de- 
velopment and  absence  of  culture  does  not  disprove 
its  existence.  Without  it  man  would  be  shorn  of 
half  his  being,  and  God  could  take  no  delight  in 
his  creature.  So  let  us  cast  out,  once  and  forever, 
the  mean  idea  that  the  nature  of  the  New  Eng- 
lander,  or  the  American  at  large,  is  not  possessed 
of  all  the  elemental  faculties  that  make  the  com- 
plete man.  He  has  them.  All  he  requires  is 
opportunity,  stimulus,  and  culture,  to  become  as 
proficient  in  the  assthetic  as  he  is  in  the  practical 
arts.  The  bias  of  his  nature  is  even  now  turning 
that  way.  Rich  men  begin  to  believe  that  the 
buildings  which  represent  them  should  exhibit 
other  features  than  prosaic  utilitarianism  and  utter 
barrenness  of  thought  and  fancy.  Compare  the 
stores  of  1850  —  homely  wall-surfaces  broken  up 
by  graceless  apertures,  as  destitute  of  ornamenta- 
tion as  a  mud-scow  —  with  those  of  1860,  with 
their  plethora  of  carving,  classical  orders,  rococo 
fancies,  striking  bits  of  originality,  and  here  and 


328 


THE  PICTURESQUE. 


there  ingenious  adaptation,  in  fine,  the  universal 
struggle  for  beauty  in  some  shape  or  other.  The 
same  is  true  of  dweUing-houses.  A  tall,  swell- 
front,  naked  brick  wall,  with  ugly,  gaping  win- 
dows and  awkward  steps,  was  a  few  years  ago 
the  height  of  ambition  in  building  of  milHonaires. 
Now  they  are  content  with  nothing  less  than  pa- 
latial architecture  subdued  to  their  requirements, 
and  begin  to  value  color  for  its  own  sake  for  out- 
ward decoration.  The  finest  materials  are  eagerly 
sought  for  their  dwellings.  They  wish  them  to 
appear  handsome  in  the  public  eye,  and  in  degree, 
not  the  highest,  recognize  its  claim  to  be  gratified 
in  whatever  is  made  a  permanent  object  of  view. 
Look,  also,  at  the  colors  and  costume  of  the  hour 
as  contrasted  with  the  uniform,  dull,  or  "homely 
fashions  of  the  immediate  past.  If  this  go  on, 
we  shall  arrive  at  something  like  the  picturesque 
brilliancy  and  variety  of  medisevalism,  devoid  of 
its  coarseness,  exaggeration,  and  grotesqueness. 
Being  more  refined  morally  and  socially,  with 
greater  knowledge  and  superior  science,  a  better 
taste  will  ultimately  direct  our  delight  in  what 
gratifies  the  eye.  The  opportunity  our  streets 
offer  for  studies  of  this  character  is  not  half  ap- 
preciated. The  horse-cars,  with  their  gay  colors, 
lively  movements,  flashing  prismatic  lights  at 
night,  glide  by,  like  so  many  Brobdignagian  fire- 
bugs, with  eyes  of  emerald,  ruby,  and  sapphire, 
or,  in  fog  and  darkness,  resolve  themselves  into 
spectral  processions  melting  into  nothingness,  as 
the  tinkle  of  their  tiny  bells  dies  out  in  the  dis- 
tance.    Beside  their  inestimable  utility  to  all 


SHOP-WINDOWS. 


329 


classes,  they  have  added  gi^eatly  to  the  poetry  of 
our  streets. 

Shop-wmdows  are  another  gesthetic  element  of 
almost  untried  capacity  of  effect.  Much  of  the 
minor  attractiveness  of  Paris  is  owing  to  the  good 
taste  of  shopmen.  They  arrange  their  merchant 
disc,  not  merely  neatly  and  orderly,  but  with 
regard  to  color,  variety,  harmony,  and  always  de- 
cently, so  that  it  displays  its  best  qualities  at  first 
glance.  A  few  of  our  tradesmen  are  beginning 
to  understand  this.  There  is  a  shop  in  Harrison 
Avenue  which  is  a  notable  instance  of  how  at- 
tractive objects  unattractive  in  themselves  may 
be  made  by  good  taste  in  arrangement.  It  is 
a  sausage  or  comestible  shop,  and  affords  an  ex- 
cellent lesson  to  apothecaries  and  others,  in  more 
conspicuous  places,  who,  with  the  best  materials 
for  beautiful  arrangement,  present  only  a  chaos 
that  jars  a  sensitive  eye  as  unpleasantly  as  false 
notes  in  music  a  fine  ear.  There  are  also  in 
Boston  a  class  of  shopkeepers  who  thrust  be- 
fore the  public  in  the  most  offensive  manner  the 
innermost  apparel  of  both  sexes,  artifices  of  fe- 
male toilet,  and  unpleasant  devices  for  supplying 
corporeal  deficiencies.  This  undressing  in  the 
street  is  a  violation  of  aesthetic  morality.  Ev- 
ery woman  should  protest  against  it  by  avoiding 
these  places,  on  the  score  of  disrespect  to  her 
sex.  Neither  men  nor  women  wish  to  have 
vulgar  and  common  necessities  constantly  thrust 
upon  view  and  memory.  This  may  seem  a  for- 
eign matter  as  regards  the  art-idea,  but  it  lies 
at  the  root  of  a  great  principle.    Each  person 


330 


SHOP-SCHOOLS. 


is  morally  bound  to  contribute  his  mountain  or 
mite  towards  the  general  happiness,  welfare, 
and  orderly  being  of  society.  Displays  that  bor- 
der on  indecency  and  bad  taste  demoralize  the 
aesthetic  faculty,  and  familiarize  the  people  with 
images  of  "  dirt."  The  same  rule  of  the  beauti- 
ful in  all  things  applies  to  manners.  Were  it 
better  observed,  we  should  see  no  vulgar  expos- 
ure of  persons,  heels  higher  than  heads,  at  hotel- 
windows  on  the  most  prominent  streets,  nor  to- 
bacco-filth scattered  everywhere,  to  the  injury 
and  annoyance  of  others  ;  but,  instead,  a  prevail- 
ing refinement  of  habits  and  gracefulness  of  man- 
ner, which  would  make  the  Americans,  in  time, 
the  most  polite,  as  they  really  are  at  heart  the 
best-disposed  and  most  obliging,  people  of  the 
globe.    Is  not  this  worth  trying  for  ? 

If  other  evidence  is  needed  of  the  extending 
taste  for  the  beautiful  of  our  population,  go  to 
the  crowds,  including  young  children,  often  of 
the  poorest  classes,  that  daily  frequent  windows 
or  shops  in  which  are  to  be  seen  objects  of  art. 
These  are  great  educators,  for  every  hour  there 
are  borne  away  from  them  ideas,  fancies,  hints, 
and  impressions  destined  to  affect  the  individuals 
who  receive  them  during  their  entire  existence. 
Often  they  are  the  first  suggestions  the  recipient 
has  of  a  positive  aesthetic  faculty,  the  primary 
lessons  in  art  for  scores  of  thousands  of  mothers 
and  fathers,  who  go  home  and  implant  in  the 
youthful  minds  intrusted  to  them  the  seeds  of 
their  love  of  the  beautiful.  Everywhere,  these 
6hop-schools  are  potent  auxiliaries  of  the  great 


BOSTON  vs.  NEW  YORK,  331 


art-galleries,  and  whieli,  in  America,  they  must 
supply  the  place  of,  until  we  can  found  them. 
The  art-feeling  and  average  culture  of  Boston  we 
beheve  to  be  already  in  advance  of  New  York, 
owing,  in  great  measure,  to  the  number  and  acces- 
sibility of  print  and  picture  stores,  and  frequent 
exhibitions  of  objects  of  art.  Those  of  New  York 
are  not  visited  by  the  multitude,  but  chiefly  by 
the  idle  and  fashionable.  Pictures  having  ideas 
are  quicker  appreciated  in  Boston.  The  taste  is 
truer  and  deeper,  less  easily  satisfied  with  the 
material  and  sliallow.  In  intellectual  matters  in 
general  the  same  contrast  holds  good.  Boston 
and  its  neighborhood  is  one  vast  reading  and 
lecture-going  society.  Its  numerous  public  and 
private  libraries  attest  the  universal  demand  for 
books,  as  much  among  the  poorest  as  the  rich- 
est classes.  There  is  nothing  corresponding  to 
this  in  New  York.  That  city  is  almost  destitute 
of  private  circulating  libraries.  The  'common 
confession  is  that  there  is  no  time  to  read.  There 
is  not,  nor  ever  will  be,  not  even  time  to  think,  as 
New  York  lives.  She  is  given  over  to  prodigali- 
ties of  pleasure,  fashion,  politics,  and  material  gain. 
Nothing  miserly  or  small,  but  grand  and  vehement 
in  her  loves  and  passions,  she  only  awaits  resur- 
rection into  a  nobler  phase  of  life  to  take  the  lead 
in  every  good  work.  Meantime,  Boston  leads  not 
only  intellectually  other  cities  of  the  Union,  allow- 
ing for  differences  of  population,  which,  in  the 
case  of  New  York,  is  as  five  to  one,  but  morally 
the  world,  for  it  is  the  only  large  city  in  which 
refined  womanhood  has  won  the  right  to  go  about 


332 


THE  MYTHIC  COW, 


as  freely  and  safely  by  night  as  by  day.  This  is 
due,  in  the  main,  to  the  almost  universal  demand 
of  both  sexes  for  the  intellectual  food  of  concerts, 
lectures,  and  the  better  class  of  theatres.  The 
social  victory  of  Boston  women,  though  in  the 
light  of  natural  right  a  small  thing  of  itself,  will 
ultimately  make  itself  felt  to  the  very  core  of 
our  civilization. 

We  perceive  that  the  art-idea  is  expansive 
enough  to  take  in  little  things  as  well  as  great ; 
that  it  enters,  in  some  shape  or  other,  into  every 
phase  of  our  daily  lives  ;  that  it  besets  us  at 
street-corners,  shop-windows,  and  public  and  pri- 
vate resorts.  We  can  no  more  escape  it  than  our 
conscience.  Too  much  care,  therefore,  cannot  be 
bestowed  on  its  training.  The  sources  of  our  hap- 
piness are  in  the  ratio  of  the  public  comprehen- 
sion and  obedience  to  its  laws.  We  should  never 
throw  away  an  opportunity  of  enjoying  its  gifts. 

Nature  has  been  very  kind  to  Boston.  Few 
cities  anywhere  possess  a  more  picturesque  and 
varied  water  and  air  outline.  The  spade  has 
labored  to  destroy  both,  by  overmuch  levelling  of 
hill  and  lessening  the  reservoirs  of  tide  -  water. 
Compass  and  chain  have  also  lent  their  aid  to 
cut  up  the  new-made  lands  into  monotonous 
squares  and  parallelograms.  But  nature  has  her 
limit  of  patience.  By  her  fiat  spade  and  rule  can 
do  no  more  harm.  The  old  Romans  made  a 
statue  of  their  traditionary  wolf-mother.  Bos- 
tonians  equally  owe  one  to  the  mythic  cow  that 
laid  out  their  ancient  streets.  Perhaps  she  over- 
did her  work;  but  it  is  an  error  that  gives  to 


BOSTON  OUTLOOK. 


333 


Boston  a  variety  of  urban  expression  that  no 
other  city  of  this  continent  excels.  The  new 
portion,  with  its  noble  avenues,  fortunately  not  all 
running  in  one  direction,  fits  well  to  the  old. 
Both,  thus  happily  united  in  aesthetic  wedlock, 
have  a  rare  capacity  of  beauty.  Take  the  view 
from  Beacon  Hill  as  one  of  many.  The  outlook 
ranges  for  miles  over  the  wave-like  hills  of  the 
varied  suburbs,  until  it  breaks  against  the  Blue 
range  on  the  one  haM,  or  sinks  into  the  island- 
dotted  ocean  on  the  other.  Look  when  the  sun, 
sinking  in  the  west,  pours  its  golden  shimmer 
and  roseate  hues  through  the  foliage  of  the  stately 
elms  of  the  Common,  lighting  up  their  forest- 
aisles  and  graceful  vaults  with  spiritual  life, 
merging  all  forms  into  poetical  mystery,  then 
glances  and  glistens,  like  the  sparkle  of  countless 
gems,  from  window,  dome,  and  spire,  irradiating 
every  street  with  celestial  halos  or  glowing  fires. 
Italy  herself  could  find  enjoyment  in  this  scene. 

Viewed  from  the  country,  Boston  has  an  almost 
equally  picturesque  charm  on  account  of  its  high 
air-line,  the  long  reaches  of  bridges  crossing  its 
silvery  setting  of  many  waters,  and  the  darting, 
snowy  steam-trails  on  every  side  that  mark  the 
course  of  the  iron  sinews  that  bind  it  to  the  main- 
land. New  York  and  Philadelphia,  like  all  flat- 
footed  cities,  are  doomed  to  look  in  upon  them- 
Belves,  always  gnawing  their  own  vitals.  The 
Gothamite  and  Pennite,  by  force  of  locality,  can 
get  no  idea  of  the  general  aspect  of  their  towns. 
A  sample  of  one  part,  multiplied  indefinitely, 
produces  the  whole.    They  live  and  move  by 


334  A  GOLDEN  OPPORTUNITY. 

blocks  and  squares,  are  rectangular  by  compul- 
sion, have  lost  the  sense  of  the  picturesque,  or 
see  beauty  only  in  geometrical  plots  bounded 
by  tall  iron  fences,  flower-bed  bastilles,  from 
which  dogs  and  the  people  are  remorselessly 
warned  off,  always  excepting  Central  Park,  the 
idea  of  which  is  so  grand  and  universal  that  it 
seems  like  a  protest  for  the  beautiful  wrung  out 
of  the  soul  of  famishing  millions. 

Bostonians  at  will  can^et  free  air,  open  sky, 
clear  horizon ;  see  sunsets,  sunrises  ;  breathe  water- 
kissed  summer  breezes  ;  have  range,  liberty,  vari- 
ety. The  Back  Bay,  for  the  present,  is  a  rude 
park,  whose  diversified  attractions  are  not  as 
much  known  as  they  deserve  to  be.  From  a 
dense  throng  of  unattractive  humanity  in  its  busy 
mood,  the  craver  of  a  free  breath  and  elbow-room, 
in  a  ten  minutes'  walk,  can  put  himself  into  a  pic- 
turesque solitude,  yet  within  ear-shot  of  human 
hum.  The  best  parts  of  New  York  are  given 
over  to  the  vilest  uses  and  lowest  populations,  or 
the  incessant,  torturing  clang  of  machinery  and 
the  necessities  of  shipping,  with  their  material 
discomfort,  filth,  and  bustle. 

Bat  Bostonians  have  thrown  away  a  golden 
opportunity  of  adorning  their  city  at  small  outlay 
with  an  architectural  feature  which  Venice  would 
be  proud  to  call  her  own.  They  have  continued 
Beacon  Street  straight  out  over  the  Mill-Dam, 
making  an  avenue  finer  than  anything  New 
York  has  to  show,  but  poverty  itself  compared 
with  what  was  in  their  power  to  do.  If,  instead 
of  fronting  the  houses  on  the  present  line,  they 


JOYOUS  CARNIVAL. 


335 


had  faced  them  the  other  way,  looking  on  a 
magnificent  esplanade  of  ample  width,  a  feature 
of  unique  value  and  loveliness  for  America 
would  have  been  given  to  their  city.  That  beau- 
tiful sheet  of  water,  forming  a  tiny  lake,  fed  by 
Charles  Eiver  and  the  ocean,  used  for  regattas, 
not  coveted  by  commerce,  might  have  been 
bordered  for  miles  with  palatial  houses  and  pub- 
lic edifices,  forming  a  splendid  drive  or  prome- 
nade, attractive  at  all  seasons,  and  in  summer 
obviating  any  necessity  of  going  elsewhere  to  es- 
cape heat,  or  obtain  more  beauty.  Sunrise  and 
sunset  would  have  painted  on  its  cool,  delicious 
waters  an  endless  variety  of  pictures  in  purple, 
orange,  crimson,  and  gold,  intensified  by  the  dark 
shadows  of  the  overhanging  houses,  or  flaming 
back  from  their  crystal  windows  sheets  of  glory, 
lighting  up  earth  and  sky  with  dazzling  effulgence, 
such  as  no  Claude  or  Church  can  rival,  and  only 
Turner  suggest.  Quick-pulling  wherries,  with 
their  gayly  uniformed  crews  and  dancing  banners, 
the  snowy  sails  of  the  tiny  yacht,  and  the  rhyth- 
mical strokes  of  the  row-boat,  would  have  made  of 
each  fine  day  a  joyous  carnival,  and  turned  the 
heaviness  of  Puritan  life  into  a  thankfulness  and 
delight.  How  the  French  or  Italians  would 
have  rejoiced  in  such  an  opportunity  !  Our  grand- 
children will  expend  millions  to  redeem  the 
want  of  taste  of  the  present  generation,  and  to 
assert  for  Boston  all  her  rights  of  gracefulness. 
It  would,  also,  have  proved  a  far  more  profitable 
speculation  than  the  present  system,  as  any  one 
may  estimate  by  comparing  the  prices  of  building- 


336 


A  SUGGESTION, 


lots  that  have  beautiful  outlooks  with  those  that 
have  not. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  pursue  this  portion  of  the 
topic  farther.  What  we  have  said  is  simply  by 
way  of  suggestion,  the  value  of  which  the  reader 
can  test  in  manifold  ways.  % 


CHAPTER  XIX. 
Art-Institutions  and  Art-Education  in  Europe  and  America. 


I  HE  inquiry  now  arises  by  what  means, 
!  in  America,  may  the  knowledge  and  ap- 
preciation of  art  be  best  promoted? 


One  means  is  the  estabhshment  of  professor- 
ships of  art,  similar  to  those  for  science  and  liter- 
ature, in  our  advanced  seminaries  and  colleges. 
Design  and  coloring  need  not  be  technically 
taught  so  much  as  the  laws  and  principles  which 
underlie  them.  But  the  chief  value  of  this 
branch  of  education  would  be  in  teaching  the 
relation  of  art  to  civilization,  and  particularly  its 
connection,  in  all  times,  with  the  religious  and 
emotional  sentiments,  and  its  close  affinity  with 
the  imaginative  and  creative  faculties.  A  course 
of  instruction  of  this  character,  with  appropriate 
illustrations,  would  not  only  enable  the  student  to 
classify  art  according  to  its  origin,  genealogy,  and 
the  quality  of  intellect  it  represents,  but  would 
gradually  create  an  intelligent  public  opinion,  cal- 
cidated  to  arouse  the  artistic  mind  to  its  fullest 
capacity,  by  not  only  demanding  noble  motive  and 
superior  execution,  but  by  resolutely  exposing 
imbecility  and  artifice. 

The  first  duty  of  art,  as  we  have  already  inti- 
22 


338 


HAKE  ART  FREE  TO  ALL. 


mated,  is  to  make  om^  public  buildings  and  places 
as  instructive  and  enjoyable  as  possible.  They 
should  be  pleasurable,  full  of  attractive  beauty 
and  eloquent  teachings.  Picturesque  groupings 
of  natural  objects,  architectural  surprises,  sermons 
from  the  sculptor's  chisel  and  painter's  palette,  the 
ravishment  of  the  soul  by  its  superior  senses,  the 
refinement  of  mind  and  body  by  the  sympathetic 
power  of  beauty, — these  are  a  portion  of  the  means 
which  a  due  estimation  of  art  as  an  element  of 
civilization  inspires  the  ruling  will  to  provide 
freely  for  all.  If  art  be  kept  a  rare  and  tabooed 
thing,  a  specialty  for  the  rich  and  powerful,  it 
excites  in  the  vulgar  mind  envy  and  hate.  But 
proffer  it  freely  to  the  public,  and  the  public  soon 
learns  to  delight  in  and  protect  it  as  its  rightful 
inheritance.  It  also  tends  to  develop  a  brother- 
hood of  thought  and  feeling.  During  the  civil 
strifes  of  Italy  art  flourished  and  was  respected. 
Indeed,  to  some  extent  it  operated  as  a  sort  of 
peace-society,  and  was  held  sacred  when  nothing 
else  was.  Even  rude  soldiers,  amid  the  perils  and 
necessities  of  sieges,  turned  aside  destruction  from 
the  walls  that  sheltered  it.  The  history  of  art  is 
full  of  records  of  its  power  to  soften  and  elevate 
the  human  heart.  As  soon  would  man,  were  it 
possible,  mar  one  of  God's  sunsets,  as  cease  to  re- 
spect what  genius  has  confided  to  his  care,  when 
once  his  mind  has  been  awakened  to  its  meaning. 
First,  therefore,  educate  the  people  in  the  princi- 
ples of  art,  and  then  scatter  among  them,  with 
lavish  hand,  free  as  water,  its  richest  treasures. 
The  desire  for  art  being  awakened,  museums 


GALLERIES  OF  ART. 


839 


to  illustrate  its  technical  and  historical  progress, 
and  galleries  to  exhibit  its  master-works,  become 
indispensable.  In  the  light  of  education,  appro- 
priations for  such  purposes  are  as  much  a  duty  of 
the  government  as  for  any  other  purpose  con- 
nected with  the  true  welfare  of  the  people,  for 
its  responsibihties  extend  over  the  entire  social 
system. 

The  most  common  means  of  popularizing  art 
and  cultivating  a  general  taste  is  by  galleries  or 
museums.  But  even  in  Europe  these  have  been 
only  quite  recently  established.  Before  1780 
there  were  only  three,  those  of  Dresden,  Florence, 
and  Amsterdam.  As  early  as  the  fourteenth 
century  associations  of  painters  had  been  formed, 
like  that  of  Florence,  a.  d.  1350,  which  was 
the  origin  of  the  present  Academy  of  Fine  Arts 
of  that  city.  But  this  institution  did  not  possess 
a  museum  until  1784.  Indeed,  public  galleries 
were  not  in  vogue  until  long  after  art  itself  had 
degenerated  into  that  impotency  and  insipidity 
which  preceded  its  revival  in  the  present  century. 
True,  there  were  noble  and  royal  collections  like 
the  Pitti,  Borghese,  and  Modena.  To  these,  how- 
ever, the  pubHc  had  only  partial  access.  But  as 
the  churches  and  public  buildings  of  that  period 
still  retained  altar-pieces  and  other  important 
paintings  in  those  positions  for  which  they  were 
originally  designed,  the  people  did  not  miss  as 
much  as  they  otherwise  would  have  done  the  less 
important  easel-pictures  of  the  same  masters,  in 
the  private  collections  of  their  rulers.  Later, 
however,  on  the  suppression  of  many  convents 


340 


THE  LOUVRE. 


and  churches,  places  of  deposit  had  to  be  provided 
for  the  works  of  art  taken  from  them.  Many  of 
these  fell  into  the  hands  of  individuals,  or  became 
the  prey  of  speculators.  To  prevent  their  total 
loss,  the  several  governments  promptly  instituted 
galleries,  into  which  were  gradually  gathered  all 
works  of  art  belonging  to  them,  or  which  had 
been  declared  the  property  of  the  state.  In  this 
way  masterpieces  which  for  centuries  had  been 
lost  to  the  public  eye,  or  half  forgotten  in  rarely 
explored  apartments  of  princely  residences,  were 
brought  out  from  their  obscurity,  and  restored  to 
their  legitimate  functions  of  popular  enjoyment 
and  instruction.  Yet  even  in  the  best  of  these 
institutions  there  was  no  special  order  or  system, 
and  they  had  little  to  recommend  them  beside  the 
indifferent  opportunity  they  gave  to  those  disposed 
to  study  art. 

The  present  Museum  of  the  Louvre  is  com- 
posed of  numerous  galleries  of  objects  of  art  and 
antiquity,  embracing  the  entire  range  of  civiliza- 
tion, founded  and  conserved  on  a  scale  of  imperial 
liberality  and  magnificence.  As  the  visitor  wan- 
ders through  its  long  ranges  of  halls,  overflowing 
with  precious  works,  he  is  surprised  to  learn  that 
this  chief  attraction  of  the  most  attractive  city  of 
the  world  is  scarcely  seventy  years  old.  On  the 
18th  of  October,  1792,  the  first  year  of  the  French 
Republic,  M.  Roland  wrote  to  David,  the  painter, 
that  the  National  Convention  had  decreed  the  es- 
tablishment of  a  museum  in  the  palace  of  the 
Louvre,  of  which  he  was  to  be  the  director.  Be 
it  borne  in  mind  that  the  greatest  museum  of  Eu- 


FOUNDING  OF  THE  LOUVRE.  841 


rope  was  founded  by  republicans.  It  was  not 
until  the  people  had  won  political  power  that  the 
rulers  threw  open  to  them  the  treasures  which 
had  hitherto  been  enjoyed  in  selfish  privacy,  or 
displayed  only  as  reflections  of  aristocratic  taste 
and  magnificence.  When  absolutism  began  to 
give  way  to  democratic  ideas,  one  of  the  first 
results  was  the  restoration  to  the  people  of  their 
art  of  previous  ages.  Republican  France,  al- 
though engaged  in  a  death-struggle  with  coalesced 
Europe,  bleeding  and  poverty-stricken,  convulsed 
with  civil  strife,  and  tortured  by  the  hate  of  castes 
and  sects,  with  her  very  existence  at  stake,  thought 
and  labored  for  art.  The  numerous  portable 
works  which  the  nation  owned  were  gathered  into 
a  museum,  free  to  all ;  whilst  100,000  livres  an- 
nually were  decreed  for  the  purchase  of  pictures 
and  statues  in  private  hands,  which  the  Republic 
considered  it  would  not  be  for  its  honor  to  permit 
to  be  sold  out  of  the  country.  From  this  begin- 
ning, and  under  these  circumstances,  within  the 
memory  of  those  now  living,  the  glorious  Louvre 
has  risen. 

What  was  oligarchical  England  doing  mean- 
while ?  Not  founding  galleries  ;  for,  with  the  ex- 
ample of  the  Louvre  before  them,  the  British 
Parliament  refused  as  a  gift  what  now  constitutes 
the  admirable  Dulwich  Gallery.  The  British 
government  cared  not  at  that  date  to  instruct  the 
people,  or  provide  for  their  enjoyment.  Fortu- 
nately, before  long  it  became  fashionable  to  have 
a  taste  for  pictures.  This  potent  influence,  added 
to  the  enlightenment  of  a  few  leading  minds,  who 


342       NATIONAL  GALLERY,  LONDON. 


perceived  that  it  was  necessary  for  England  to  do 
something  for  the  education  of  her  artisans  for 
the  benefit  of  the  manufacturing  interests,  jeop- 
arded by  the  superior  taste  and  skill  of  continen- 
tal artistic  trainmg,  led  to  the  purchase  of  the 
overrated  Angerstein  collection  of  pictures  for 
£57,000,  as  the  foundation  of  a  national  gallery. 
While  other  countries  had  abundant  store  of 
works  of  art  as  public  property  with  which  to 
begin  their  great  museums,  England  was  almost 
destitute,  the  only  royal  collection  of  value  it 
had  ever  possessed,  that  of  Charles  I.,  having 
been  long  before  dispersed.  But  no  sooner  did  the 
people  of  England  have  an  opportunity  of  study- 
ing art,  than  the  National  Gallery  began  to  as- 
sume an  importance  proportionate  to  the  great- 
ness of  the  nation.  The  people  have  proved 
more  liberal  than  the  government ;  for  while  that 
has  added  to  it  by  purchase  since  1823  less  than 
three  hundred  pictures,  gifts  and  bequests  have 
increased  it  by  upwards  of  eight  hundred.  Mean- 
time, the  South  Kensington  Museum,  more  di- 
rectly devoted  to  artistic  education,  has  been  es- 
tablished. In  connection  with  it  there  are  akeady 
fourscore  schools  of  design,  instructing  70,000 
pupils,  costing  annually,  in  round  numbers,  $500,- 
000,  both  galleries,  the  National  and  Kensington, 
yearly  receiving  more  than  a  million  of  visitors. 

The  most  careless  observer  cannot  have  failed 
to  notice,  of  late,  the  rapid  improvement  in  grace- 
ful design  and  harmonious  coloring  of  those  Brit- 
ish manufactures  into  which  art  enters  as  an 
elemental  feature.     As  yet  there  is  not  much 


AR  T-MANUFA  CTURE. 


343 


originality  or  variety  of  invention,  though  consid- 
erable skill  and  taste  are  displayed  in  adaptation 
from  classical  and  mediaeval  examples,  betokening 
a  general  spread  of  knowledge  of  art-forms,  and 
a  riper  appreciation  of  their  refining  and  gesthetic 
influences,  even  when  associated  with  objects  of 
common  use.  This  is  greatly  due  to  the  insti- 
tutions above  *named,  and  that  eloquent  literature 
of  art  which  has  grown  up  with  them,  of  which 
Ruskin  is  the  most  conspicuous  example.  Eng- 
land preserves  her  preeminence  by  schooling  her 
artisans  in  matters  of  refined  taste  and  perfect 
workmanship.  Under  similar  advantages,  there 
is  no  reason  why  our  people,  with  more  cosmopol- 
itan brains,  acuter  sensibilities,  readier  impressi- 
bility, and  quicker  inventive  faculties,  should  not 
excel  her  in  these  respects,  as  we  do  already  in 
some  of  the  industrial  arts.  We  have  a  conti- 
nent of  fast-multiplying  millions  to  supply  with 
all  the  fabrics  into  which  aesthetic  enjoyment  may 
enter,  as  well  as  with  absolute  works  of  art.  And 
what  utensil  is  there  with  which  we  may  not,  as 
did  the  Greeks,  connect  beauty  of  form  and  color, 
and  which  we  may  not  make  suggestive  of  hidden 
meaning,  pointing  a  moral  or  narrating  a  tale  ? 

To  stimulate  the  art-feeling,  it  is  requisite  that 
our  public  should  have  free  access  to  museums, 
or  galleries,  in  which  shall  be  exhibited,  in  chron- 
ological series,  specimens  of  the  art  of  all  na- 
tions and  schools,  including  our  own,  arranged 
according  to  their  motives  and  the  special  influ- 
ences that  attended  their  development.  After  this 
manner  a  mental  and  artistic  history  of  the  world 


344 


A  COMPLETE  GALLERY. 


may  be  spread  out  like  a  chart  before  the  student; 
while  the  artist,  with  equal  facility,  can  trace  up 
to  their  origin  the  varied  methods,  styles,  and  ex- 
cellences of  each  prominent  epoch.  A  museum  of 
art  is  a  perpetual  feast  of  the  most  intense  and 
refined  enjoyment  to  every  one  capable  of  enter- 
ing into  its  phases  of  thought  and  execution,  and 
of  analyzing  its  external  and  internal  being  and 
tracing  the  mysterious  transformations  of  spirit 
into  form.  But  galleries,  as  they  in  general  exist, 
formed  upon  no  consecutive  plan,  are  like  the  dis- 
jointed pages  of  a  book,  one  being  at  Berlin, 
another  at  Paris,  Rome,  Florence,  Madrid,  Lon- 
don, Munich,  Vienna,  or  St.  Petersburg ;  no  one 
of  these  singly  affording  a  complete  view  of  the 
history  and  progress  of  art. 

It  has  been  well  said  that  a  complete  gallery, 
on  a  broad  foundation,  in  which  all  testes,  styles, 
and  methods  harmoniously  mingle,  is  a  court  of 
final  appeal  of  one  phase  of  civilization  against 
another,  from  an  examination  of  which  we  can 
sum  up  their  respective  qualities  and  merits, 
drawing  therefrom,  for  our  own  edification,  as 
from  a  perpetual  well-spring  of  inspiration  and 
knowledge.  But  if  we  sit  in  judgment  upon  the 
great  departed,  they  likewise  sit  in  judgment  upon 
us.  And  it  is  precisely  where  such  means  of 
testing  artistic  growth  best  exist  that  modern  art 
is  at  once  most  humble  and  most  aspiring  ;  con- 
scious of  its  own  power,  and,  in  many  respects, 
superior  technical  advantages,  both  it  and  the  pub- 
lic are  still  content  to  go  to  the  Past  for  instruc- 
tion, each  seeking  to  rise  above  the  transitory 


GALLERIES  OF  ART. 


345 


bias  of  fashion  or  local  ideas,  to  a  standard  of 
taste  that  will  abide  world-wide  comparison  and 
criticism. 

An  edifice  for  a  gallery,  or  museum  of  art, 
should  be  fire-proof,  sufficiently  isolated  for  light 
and  effective  ornamentation,  and  constructed  so  as 
to  admit  of  indefinite  extension.  Its  main  feature 
should  be  the  suitable  accommodation  and  exhibi- 
tion of  its  contents.  We  particularize  this,  for 
even  in  Europe  there  are  few  galleries  that  have 
been  constructed  with  rigid  regard  to  this  pur- 
pose. Provision  could  be  made  for  its  becom- 
ing, eventually,  in  architectural  effect,  consistent 
with  its  object.  The  skeleton  of  such  a  build- 
ing need  not  be  costly.  Its  chief  expense  would 
be  in  its  ultimate  adornment  with  bronzes,  mar- 
ble facings,  richly  colored  stones,  or  moulded 
brick,  sculpture  or  frescos.  This  gradual  comple- 
tion, as  happened  to  the  mediaeval  monuments  of 
Europe,  could  be  extended  through  many  succes- 
sive generations,  which  would  thus  be  linked  with 
one  another  in  a  common  object  of  artistic  and 
patriotic  pride,  gradually  growing  up  in  their 
midst  as  a  national  monument,  with  its  founda- 
tions deeply  laid  in  those  desirable  associations  of 
love  and  veneration  which,  in  older  civilizations, 
so  delightfully  harmonize  the  past  with  the  pres- 
ent. Each  epoch  of  artists  would  be  instructed 
by  the  skill  of  its  predecessor,  and  stimulated  to 
connect  its  name  permanently  with  so  glorious  a 
shrine.  Wealth,  as  in  the  days  of  democratic 
Greece  and  Italy,  would  be  lavished  upon  tho 
completion  of  a  temple  of  art  destined  to  endure, 


346       ARRANGEMENT  OF  GALLERIES, 


as  long  as  material  can  defy  time,  as  a  monument 
of  the  people's  taste  and  munificence.  Then  would 
be  born  among  them  the  spirit  of  those  Atheni- 
ans who  said  to  Phidias,  when  he  asked  if  he 
should  use  ivory  or  marble  for  the  statue  of  their 
protecting  goddess,  "use  that  material  which  is 
most  worthy  of  our  cityT 

Until  recently,  no  attention  has  been  paid,  even 
in  Europe,  to  historical  sequence  and  special  mo- 
tives in  the  arrangement  of  art-objects.  As  in  the 
Pitti  Gallery,  pictures  were  generally  hung  with- 
out regard  even  to  light,  so  as  to  conform  to  the 
symmetry  of  the  rooms ;  various  styles,  schools, 
and  epochs  being  intermixed.  As  the  progress 
of  ideas  is  of  more  importance  to  note  than  vari- 
ations of  styles  or  degrees  of  technical  merit,  at- 
tention should  be  given  to  exhibiting  lucidly  and 
consecutively  the  varied  growth  and  phases  of 
artistic  thought  among  diverse  races  and  widely 
separated  eras  and  inspirations.  By  this  arrange- 
ment, taste  is  stimulated  in  an  onward  direc- 
tion from  lower  to  higher  elements,  rising  from 
master  to  master,  until  it  pauses  upon  those  mas- 
terpieces which  form  the  climax  of  reputation  of 
any  one  period.  Prominent  motives  and  systems 
of  color  or  design,  as  they  advance  or  recede  in 
their  particular  aims,  can  thus  be  harmonized  into 
effective  aesthetic  wholes,  avoiding  all  jarring  con- 
trasts and  inharmonious  relations.  The  mechan- 
ism of  art  is  so  intimately  interwoven  with  the 
idea,  that,  by  giving  precedence  to  the  latter,  we 
most  readily  arrive  at  the  best  arrangement  of  the 
former.    Each  cycle  of  civilization  should  have 


ARRANGEMENT  OF  GALLERIES.  347 

its  special  department,  Paganism  and  Christianity 
being  kept  apart,  and  not,  as  in  the  Florentine 
gallery,  intermixed,  presenting  a  jumble  of  classi- 
cal statuary  and  modern  paintings,  in  anachronis- 
tic disorder,  to  the  loss  of  the  finest  properties  of 
each  to  the  eye,  and  the  destruction  of  that  unity 
of  association  so  essential  to  the  proper  exhibition 
of  art.  It  is  essential  that  every  variety  of  art 
should  be  associated  with  those  objects  or  con- 
ditions most  in  keeping  with  its  inspiration.  In 
this  way  we  quickest  come  to  an  understanding 
of  its  originating  idea,  and  sympathize  with  its 
feeling,  tracing  its  progress  from  infancy  to  matu- 
rity and  decay,  and  comparing  it,  as  a  whole,  with 
corresponding  or  rival  varieties  of  artistic  devel- 
opment. This  systematized  variety  of  one  great 
unity  is  of  the  highest  importance  in  affording 
the  spectator  sound  stand-points  of  comparison  and 
criticism.  In  the  Louvre,  feeling  and  thought  are 
readily  transported  from  one  epoch  of  civilization 
to  another,  grasping  the  motives  and  execution  of 
each  with  pleasurable  accuracy.  We  perceive 
that  no  conventional  standard  of  criticism,  founded 
upon  the  opinions  or  fashions  of  one  age,  is  ap- 
plicable to  all.  To  rightly  comprehend  each,  we 
must  broadly  survey  the  entire  ground  of  art,  and 
make  ourselves,  for  the  time,  members,  as  it  were, 
of  the  political  and  social  conditions  of  life  that 
gave  origin  to  the  objects  of  our  investigations. 
This  philosophical  mode  of  viewing  art  does  not 
exclude  an  aesthetic  point  of  view,  but  rather 
heightens  that,  and  makes  it  more  intelligible. 
Paganism  could  be  subdivided  into  the  various 


348  SCOPE  OF  GALLERIES. 


national  forms  that  illustrated  its  rise  and  fall ; 
Egypt,  Persia,  India,  China,  Assyria,  Greece, 
Etruria,  and  Rome,  each  by  itself,  as  a  component 
part  of  a  great  whole.  So  with  Christianity,  in 
such  shapes  as  have  already  taken  foothold  on 
history  ;  the  Latin,  Byzantine,  Lombard,  Mediae- 
val, Renaissant,  and  Protestant  art,  all  subdivided 
in  accordance  with  their  schools  or  leading  ideas, 
graphically  arranged,  so  as  to  demonstrate,  amid 
the  infinite  varieties  of  humanity,  a  divine  unity 
of  origin  and  design,  linking  together  mankind 
into  one  common  family. 

Beside  statuary  and  paintings,  an  institution  of 
this  nature  might  contain  specimens  of  every  kind 
of  industry  in  which  art  is  the  primary  inspira- 
tion, to  illustrate  the  qualities  and  degrees  of  social 
refinement  of  nations  and  eras.  This  would  in- 
clude all  varieties  of  ornamental,  transitory,  or 
portable  art,  in  which  invention  and  skill  are  con- 
spicuous, as  well  as  those  works  more  directly 
inspired  by  higher  motives.  Architecture,  and 
objects  not  transportable,  could  be  represented 
by  casts  or  photographs.  Models,  gems,  medals, 
sketches,  studies,  drawings,  and  engravings  come 
within  its  scope.  There  should  be,  also,  a  suita- 
ble library  of  reference. 

Connected  with  it  there  might  be  schools  of 
design  for  studying  the  nude  figure,  antique  casts, 
and  modern  works.  Also,  for  improvement  in 
ornamental  manufacture,  the  development  of  ar- 
chitecture, and  whatever  aids  to  refine  and  give 
beauty  to  social  life,  including  a  simple  academic 
system  for  the  elementary  branches  of  drawing 


FOUNDING  OF  GALLERIES,  349 


and  coloring,  upon  a  scientific  basis  of  accumu- 
lated knowledge  and  experience,  providing  models 
and  other  advantages  not  readily  accessible  to  pri- 
vate resources,  but  leaving  individual  genius  free 
to  follow  its  own  promptings,  upon  a  well-laid 
technical  foundation.  As  soon  as  the  young  ar- 
tist has  acquired  the  grammar  of  his  profession,  he 
should  be  sent  forth  to  study  direct  from  nature, 
and  mature  his  inventive  faculties  unfettered  by 
academic  conventionalism. 

Were  we  to  wait  long  enough,  fashion  and 
interest  here,  as  in  England,  would  provide  gal- 
leries and  means  of  instruction  in  art  for  the  peo- 
ple. But  the  spirit  which  animates  such  efforts 
is  in  the  main  egotistical.  Better  is  it  by  far  that 
the  people  act  for  themselves,  supplying  their  own 
demands  for  aesthetic  enjoyment,  after  a  manner 
which,  w^hile  it  offers  to  the  taste  a  perpetual 
gratification,  stimulates  the  mind  to  enlarge  its 
scope  and  deepen  that  sympathetic  feehng  and 
comprehension  of  genuine  art  without  which  its 
appeals  are  as  fruitless  of  life  as  water  poured 
upon  sand.  To  wait  until  some  Croesus  shall 
bequeath  the  means  to  erect  a  monument  to  his 
memory,  in  the  shape  of  a  gallery  of  art,  would 
be  as  unwise  a  thing  as  for  the  thirsty  traveller 
to  deny  himself  the  water  he  could  dip  up  in  his 
gourd,  because  he  had  not  a  crystal  goblet  for  that 
purpose.  Leave  egotism  to  do  after  its  kind,  but 
as  far  as  possible  free  art  from  any  motive  in  its 
support  other  than  that  which  springs  from  per- 
fect love  and  appreciation.  Surely,  the  means 
already  exist  among  us  for  beginning  institutions 


350 


PRIVATE  GALLERIES. 


which  could  in  time  grow  to  be  the  people's 
pride. 

For  immediate  wants  it  would  be  sufficient  to 
provide  a  suitable  locality  where  such  wealth  of 
art  as  we  possess  could  be  got  together  in  orderly 
shape.  As  the  people  grow  into  an  appreciation 
of  the  value  of  art-institutions,  they  will  as  freely 
provide  for  their  permanent  support  and  growth, 
either  by  private  liberality  or  State  aid,  as  they 
now  do  for  more  common  education.  That  Amer- 
ica possesses  the  population  calculated  to  sustain 
and  enjoy  such  institutions,  we  have  evidence  in 
the  progressively  increasing  interest  awakened  by 
every  fresh  appeal  to  its  intellect  and  taste. 

America  has  already  advanced  from  indiffer- 
ence to  fashion  in  matters  of  art.  It  has  become 
the  mode  to  have  a  taste.  Private  galleries  in  New 
York  are  becoming  almost  as  common  as  private 
stables.  Thousands  of  dollars  are  now  as  freely 
given  for  pictures  as  hundreds  a  short  time  ago. 
The  result  is,  that  not  only  large  sales  of  indif- 
ferent foreign  ones  are  frequent,  at  prices  that 
will  be  likely  to  flood  us  with  the  cheap  paintings 
or  falsifications  of  Europe,  but  our  own  artists,  to 
meet  the  demand,  are  tempted  to  sell  even  the 
sketches  from  their  walls  at  valuations  which  but 
recently  they  did  not  venture  to  affix  to  their 
finished  works.  Compared  with  past  neglect,  this 
is  beneficial,  but  it  is  not  the  sort  of  stimulus  art 
craves  for  its  highest  efforts.  That  cannot  be 
given  by  mere  competition  of  rich  men,  but  must 
come  from  an  educated  public  appreciation  of  the 
real  meaning  and  purpose  of  art.    There  is  a 


PUBLIC  GALLERIES, 


351 


growing  zeal  to  establish  institutions  for  the  pro- 
motion of  art  and  the  preservation  of  its  works. 
Under  the  auspices  of  the  Historical  Society,  a 
large  sum  is  collecting  to  improve  their  noble 
grant  of  land  in  Central  Park  by  elegant  build- 
ings to  receive  their  various  collections,  on  the 
plan  of  the  British  and  South  Kensington  Mu- 
seums, free  to  the  public.  New  York,  possess- 
ing sufficient  land  in  the  very  centre  of  the  city, 
in  the  midst  of  its  beautiful  Park,  for  indefinite 
expansion  for  centuries  to  come,  has  a  decided  ad- 
vantage over  European  capitals  for  founding  a 
national  art-institution.  Baltimore  has  a  similar 
institution,  begun  on  the  Peabody  gift  of  half  a 
million  of  dollars,  with  the  promise  of  as  much 
more.  Neither  is  Boston  behindhand.  Its  Insti- 
tute of  Technology,  carefully  studied  from  the  ex- 
perience of  Europe,  is  the  most  scientifically  com- 
plete and  comprehensive  in  its  organization  of 
any  as  yet  begun  in  America.  In  connection 
with  it,  but  independent  in  organization,  there  is 
forming  an  Institute  of  Fine  Arts,  to  include  gal- 
leries of  all  epochs  and  schools.  Numerous 
smaller  organizations  are  springing  up  in  cities 
like  Buffalo,  Rochester,  and  Chicago,  showing  that 
the  war,  so  far  from  stifling  the  growth  of  edu- 
cational institutions  at  the  North,  has  had  the  ef- 
fect to  stimulate  them,  by  convincing  Americans 
that  the  only  permanent  security  for  a  republic 
is  the  enlarged  culture  of  its  citizens.  Without 
rating  too  highly  what  has  as  yet  been  accom- 
plished, we  feel  warranted  in  stating  that  the 
present  time  has  proved  the  most  auspicious  for 


352  STATISTICS  OF  GALLERIES. 


art  and  artists  that  America  has  seen,  and  leads 
us  to  believe,  that,  under  the  influence  of  that 
activity  which  characterizes  the  American  mind 
whenever  awakened  to  topics  of  universal  inter- 
est and  utility,  she  will  shortly  possess  schools  and 
galleries  of  art  that  shall  be  commensurate  with 
her  mental  growth  in  other  directions. 

We  append  a  few  statistics  of  some  of  the  prin- 
cipal galleries  of  Europe,  showing  the  sums  of 
money  periodically  devoted  to  their  increase,  and 
the  number  of  paintings  each  contains. 

In  the  National  Gallery,  London,  the  average 
cost  of  recent  acquisitions  is  about  $6000  each. 
The  largest  sum  expended  for  one  painting  was 
170,000,  for  the  Pisani  Veronese.  The  gaUery 
now  numbers  about  800  paintings. 

The  Louvre  boasts  nearly  2000.  Since  the 
first  Empire  217  have  been  added,  at  an  expense 
of  $260,000,  of  which  the  Sebastiani  Murillo 
alone  cost  $125,000.  Versailles  has  upwards  of 
3000  paintings  illustrating  Erench  history.  The 
Gallery  of  Turin  has  369  pictures,  largely  re- 
painted by  one  hand,  and,  in  consequence,  of 
comparatively  little  value.  In  the  Uffizi,  at 
Florence,  there  are  1200  ;  in  the  Pitti,  nearly 
500  ;  and  in  the  Belle  Arti,  about  300.  At  Rome, 
the  Vatican  contains  only  37  pictures,  and  the 
Capitol  225.  In  the  Academies  of  Venice  and  - 
Bologna  there  are  about  280  each ;  in  that  of  the 
Brera,  at  Milan,  503  ;  and  at  Naples,  exclusive 
of  those  of  ancient  Greece  and  Rome,  700.  The 
Pinacothek  at  Munich,  of  recent  origin,  already 
numbers  1270,  and   the   Berlin  Gallery,  still 


FOREIGN  GALLERIES.  353 


younger,  has  acquired  1350  paintings.  Vienna 
(the  Belvedere)  has  upwards  of  1300,  Madrid 
about  1900.  The  Dresden  Gallery  outnumbers 
aU  the  others,  exceeding  2000.  At  Amsterdam 
there  are  386  ;  at  the  Hague,  304  ;  Antwerp  has 
387  ;  and  Brussels,  400.  Some  of  the  private 
galleries  of  Europe  in  number  and  value  excel 
the  public.  The  Borghese  has  526  pictures;  the 
Sciarra  has  few,  but  choice ;  the  Bridgewater 
Gallery  counts  318  ;  the  Duke  of  Sutherland's, 
323  ;  the  Grosvenor  Gallery,  157 ;  and  that  of 
the  Marquis  of  Exeter,  upwards  of  600.  Lord 
Dudley's  (formerly  Ward)  is  one  of  the  most 
choice  and  valuable  in  London. 

This  list  could  be  indefinitely  extended,  for 
there  is  scarcely  a  city  of  repute  in  Europe  which 
has  not  public  or  private  galleries  of  established 
reputation,  examples  for  us  to  follow,  not  only  for 
our  aesthetic  satisfaction,  but  as  investments  ma- 
terially contributing  to  the  prosperity  of  their  re- 
spective cities,  by  the  numberless  travellers  they 
attract.  The  city  of  America  which  first  possesses 
a  fine  gallery  of  art  v^ll  become  the  Florence  of 
this  continent  in  that  respect,  reaping  a  reward  in 
reputation  and  money  sufi^cient  to  convince  the 
closest  calculator  of  the  dollar  that  no  better  in- 
vestment could  have  been  made.^ 

*  The  substance  of  this  chapter  has  been  in  print  before, 
mostly  in  the  Christian  Examiner^  Boston,  and  the  Fine  Arts 
Quarterly  Review^  London. 


23 


CHAPTER  XX. 


Review  of  the  Art-Phase  of  Civilization,  as  derived  from 
Greece  and  Judea.  —  The  Future  of  Art  based  upon  Prot- 
estant Freedom. —  Quality  of  the  Artistic  Mind.  —  Of  the 
Scientific  Need  of  Art. — Radical  Difference  between  Sci- 
ence and  Art.  —  The  Intellectual  Repose  of  the  Scientific 
Mind,  —  the  Passional  Unrest  of  the  Artistic.  —  Analysis  of 
Causes  and  Results.  — What  Science  can  do.  —  Legitimate 
Sources.  —  Highest  Art.  —  What  Cultivation  requires. 

tppE  have  sought  to  trace  the  action  of  the 
art  -  idea  in  its  relation  to  civiHzation, 
more  in  generals  than  particulars,  with 
especial  reference  to  the  needs  of  America,  using 
names  only  so  far  as  required  to  illustrate  its 
various  motives  and  stages  of  progress.  Let  us 
look  back  for  a  moment,  and  take  a  summary  view 
of  its  historical  course  in  its  best  forms,  as  guided 
or  controlled  by  those  great  currents  of  religious 
thought  which  have  borne  mankind,  from  time  to 
time,  out  of  one  kind  of  existence  into  another. 
We  will  confine  our  retrospection  to  those  sources 
of  ideas  which  more  directly  underlie  the  intel- 
lectual and  religious  structure  of  our  own  civiliza- 
tion, namely,  Greece  and  Judea. 

The  expression  of  thought  as  art  has  taken,  we 
find,  three  strongly  pronounced  and  clearly  de 


THREE  ASPECTS, 


355 


fined  aspects.  First,  the  classical  Pagan,  or  sen- 
suous-mythological. Second,  the  Roman  Catho- 
lic, or  ascetic  -  theological,  with  its  reactionary 
offshoot  of  Renaissance,  or  the  sensual  -  worldly, 
based  on  aristocratic  culture,  and  the  interests 
and  tastes  of  lords  temporal  as  opposed  to  lords 
ecclesiastical.  Third;  the  Protestant,  or  demo- 
cratic-progressive, founded  upon  the  elevation  of 
the  people  into  a  power  of  state.  Art  now  loses 
in  intensity  of  sacred  symbolism  and  princely 
grandeur,  but  becomes  more  largely  human  in 
motive  and  humane  in  character.  Escaping 
alike  from  priestcraft  and  state-craft,  its  growing 
tendency  is  to  express  the  religion  of  humanity  : 
praise  to  God  alone  and  good-will  to  all  men, 
as  distinguished  from  the  two  previous  phases  of 
misguided  religious  thought  and  misinterpreted 
Christianity. 

From  the  very  nature  of  Greek  mythology 
sculpture  was  admirably  adapted  to  embody  its 
spirit.  All  that  classical  paganism  can  strictly  be 
said  to  have  required  of  its  art  was  an  idealiza- 
tion of  man's  faculties  and  forms,  and  an  imagi- 
native personification  of  the  hidden  forces  of  the 
natural  world,  both  required,  by  an  imperative 
public  taste,  to  aspire  to  the  highest  degrees  of 
ideal  beauty  and  intellectual  meaning  the  particu- 
lar conception  was  capable  of.  We  quaHfy  Greek 
beauty  by  the  term  intellectuality,  because  it  is 
necessary  to  keep  this  characteristic  constantly  in 
mind  in  judging  between  it  and  the  more  spiritual 
or  ascetic  types  of  Christian  art.  In  the  superior 
fitness  of  classical  inspiration  for  material  expres- 


356         FAILURE  OF  CHRISTIAN  ART, 


sion  and  adaptation  to  the  laws  of  natural  science, 
perfected  as  it  was  by  scrupulous  study  and  refined 
sensuous  feeling,  we  detect  the  secret  of  the  suc- 
cess of  Greek  artists.  Their  art  and  religion 
contemporaneously  rose  and  fell,  the  one  growing 
naturally  out  of  the  other.  Therefore,  in  calling 
Greek  art  successful,  we  do  not  mean  that  it  is 
the  highest  expression  of  man's  aesthetic  capacity, 
but  that  it  was  the  highest  and  most  complete  it 
was  capable  of  attaining  under  a  given  religious 
condition  of  mind. 

Christianity  now  intervened,  with  its  more 
spiritual  faith  and  wider  expanse  of  soul.  Is  it 
equally  successful  in  its  development  of  an  ap- 
propriate art? 

If  this  question  were  confined  to  Gothic  ecclesi- 
astical architecture  in  comparison  with  the  Greek 
temple,  we  should  say  Yes.  But,  having  more 
particularly  in  view  painting  and  sculpture,  as  rep- 
resentative of  the  aspirations  of  the  Christian 
heart  on  the  basis  of  the  teaching  of  Jesus,  we 
think  not.  In  this  respect  Christian  art  still 
fails  in  degree.  It  has  nowhere  attained  to  an 
equal  ideal  standard  of  expression  of  the  divine, 
when  compared  with  its  quality  of  spiritual  mo- 
tive, as  the  art  of  Greece  in  comparison  with  its 
intellectual  inspiration. 

We  have  observed  that  the  painted  Almighties 
of  medisevalism,  and  the  sculptured  Christs  of 
Thorwaldsen,  Tenerani,  and  others,  are  heavy 
and  vulgar  by  the  side  of  the  Jupiters  and  Apol- 
los  of  the  best  masters  of  antiquity.  Do  we  ever 
see  in  Greek  mythological  art  a  posture,  costume. 


FAILURE  OF  CHRISTIAN  ART,  357 


or  expression,  that  excites  the  feeling  of  the  ridic- 
ulous or  absurd  ?  Yet,  as  has  been  seen,  this  is 
common  in  Christian  art,  if  we  contrast  the  idea 
with  the  execution,  not  to  recall  our  frequent 
disgust  at  overwrought  physical  agony,  or  the  filth 
and  misery  of  corporeal  asceticism.  Whenever 
this  occurred  it  is  evident  that  the  artist  had  no 
proper  conception  of  the  spiritual  beauty  of  soul, 
and  its  intimate  connection  with  a  high  moral 
beauty  of  action,  harmonized  into  a  corresponding 
quality  of  form,  and,  if  ever  divorced,  only  by  the 
force  of  some  transitory  law,  of  which  the  tempo- 
ral character  should  be  so  plainly  suggested  as  to 
have  the  effect  of  shadow  in  bringing  light  into 
greater  brightness.  A  few  faith-illumined  imagi- 
nations did,  indeed,  aspire  to  realize  this  in  art. 
We  see  in  the  virgins,  prophets,  sibyls,  and  apos- 
tles of  Leonardo,  Titian,  Raphael,  Michel  Ange- 
lo,  and  Blake,  and  their  most  distinguished  schol- 
ars, evidence  of  correct  impersonifications  of  their 
respective  attributes.  But,  as  a  general  thing, 
whenever  Christian  art  has  sought  to  reduce  the 
highest  notions  of  divinity  to  sensuous  perception, 
it  has  fallen  short  of  the  intent. 

Moses  only  repeated  an  Oriental  law  when  he 
prohibited  art  from  attempting  to  embody  the 
Divine  essence,  and  Protestants  have  strictly 
obeyed  his  injunction.  But  in  the  cherubim  and 
seraphim  of  the  holy  of  holies  even  the  Jew 
ventured  to  prefigure  God's  love  and  wisdom. 
The  Greek,  by  constantly  aspiring  to  personify 
his  intellectual  ideal,  finally  succeeded.  May  not 
the  Christian,  by  resolutely  pursuing  the  path  in- 


358  PROTESTANT  PHASE, 


dicated  by  his  Pagan  brother,  finally  redeem  his 
art  from  the  reproach  of  unspirituality — or  of 
not  adequately  representing  in  tangible  form  his 
conceptions  of  future  life,  and  its  intimate  rela- 
tion with  the  present  —  that  it  now  lies  under  ? 

We  have  seen  that  Christianity,  by  enlarging 
the  field  of  art  and  elevating  its  motive,  gave  to 
painting,  as  a  means  of  expression,  a  predomi- 
nance over  sculpture.  It  is  on  that,  therefore, 
that  we  must  chiefly  rely  for  ultimate  success. 
The  bastard  union  of  Classical  forms  with  Chris- 
tian thought,  having  no  power  of  procreation, 
cannot  long  perpetuate  its  existence.  As  it  dies 
out,  the  Protestant  direction  of  art  begins  to 
predominate,  springing  from  the  people,  humble 
and  common  in  its  origin  and  taste,  and  not  un- 
seldom,  as  has  been  shown,  vulgar  and  vicious, 
still  thoroughly  human,  and  claiming  full  lib- 
erty of  utterance  according  to  individual  needs. 
Born  of  progressive  humanity,  protesting  at  all  of 
the  past  that  deadens  the  spirit  of  the  present,  it 
impels  man  onward  in  a  constantly  enlarging  cir- 
cle of  needs  and  ideas,  based  upon  the  expansive 
power  of  science  to  overcome  matter,  to  reduce 
its  laws  to  human  service,  and  to  expose  the  un- 
derlying spirit  of  all  things.  In  this  respect 
science  not  only  beckons  to  art  to  move  on,  but 
demands  that  it  shall.  But  art  prefers  to  look 
back ;  to  represent  the  past,  or,  at  the  most,  to 
give  only  what  is  acceptable  of  the  present.  It 
reflects  too  much  the  popular  feeling,  right  or 
wrong,  and  demands  welcome,  not  so  much  be- 
cause it  teaches,  as  that  it  sympathizes.  Seldom, 


NO  MART  YES. 


359 


like  science,  does  it  reveal  new  and  startling  truths. 
Hence,  it  has  no  persecuted  Galileo,  no  martyred 
Socrates,  dying  for  conscience'  sake.  It  is  too  little 
a  law,  and  too  much  an  emotion.  Since  it  emerged 
from  the  ruins  of  Greek  civilization,  it  has  been 
a  fluctuating  sentiment,  rarely  indulging  in  antici- 
pation, but  too  full  of  contrarieties,  jealousies,  and 
rivalries ;  a  divided  host  of  individuals  or  socie- 
ties, with  single  or  rival  ends  in  view,  each  one 
contributing  his  or  its  best  to  the  great  tide,  but 
constantly  going  round  and  round  again  in  the 
same  circle,  no  artist  being  the  wiser,  except  as 
his  own  perceptions  lead  him  to  the  discovery  of 
the  means  and  laws  of  preceding  art.  Turner, 
Titian,  and  their  equals,  in  dying,  have  left  no 
sign  behind  of  their  peculiar  methods,  except 
general  results.  Great  artists  have  devoted  their 
lives  to  ascertaining  the  secret  of  Venetian  color ; 
and  learned  treatises  have  been  written  upon 
what,  in  one  sense,  from  perishing  with  the  indi- 
vidual, is  a  lost  art.  Every  artist  has  been  more 
or  less  compelled  to  reproduce  by  himself  all  pre- 
vious excellence  of  his  kind,  as  his  primary  basis 
of  progress.  Much  time  was  necessarily  lost,  and 
genius  stultified,  in  this  endless  routine  of  exper- 
iments on  material.  Yet  the  world  will  not  for- 
give any  inferiority  of  kind.  This  is  right  in 
principle,  but  often  wrong,  considering  what  it 
requires  of  the  artist. 

Must  art  in  its  material  aspect  be  thus  a  per- 
petual system  of  fluctuating  reproduction  ?  Why 
may  not  its  technical  laws  be  steadily  evolved, 
like  those  of  science,  by  the  harmonious  unison 


860        ART  THE  PRODUCT  OF  LAW. 


of  minds  engaged  in  the  common  pursuit  of  its 
practical  truths  ?  Art  should,  indeed,  give  no  di- 
rect evidence  of  rule.  Like  nature,  it  is  the  prod- 
uct of  law ;  but  it  should  seem  an  inspiration, 
and  its  greatest  power  rest  upon  its  apparent  spon- 
taneity. Indeed,  all  the  great  ideas  which  from 
age  to  age  have  revolutionized  mankind  have  par- 
taken in  their  outset  of  the  character  of  revela- 
tion. Whence  they  came,  and  whither  they  were 
to  go,  no  man  could  tell.  They  are  the  fruit  of 
that  mysterious  intuitive  faculty  of  the  human 
soul  which  baffles  all  logical  analysis  or  mental 
explanation.  But,  once  received  into  the  mind, 
they  gradually  resolve  themselves  into  law.  From 
first  feeling  a  truth,  or  an  intuitive  consciousness 
of  its  existence,  delighting  his  heart,  man  aspires 
to  a  knowledge  of  its  principles  of  being,  for  the 
satisfaction  of  his  reason,  and  to  acquire  that  con- 
trol over  nature  vested  by  God  in  him  through 
the  enlightenment  of  his  understanding.  He 
knows  that  all  revelation  and  all  enjoyment  must 
have  a  law,  and  that  law  be  in  harmony  with  its 
divine  authorship  and  the  ultimate  purpose  of  life. 
Beauty,  indeed,  cannot  be  reduced  to  manufacture, 
for  its  essence  is  that  freedom  which  defies  analy- 
sis and  outlaws  compass  and  receipt.  But,  while 
instinct,  as  we  see  so  often  in  semi-barbarous  na- 
tions, leads  the  workman  to  anticipate  science  in 
that  subtile  employment  of  color  which  most  satis- 
fies our  demand  for  its  specific  enjoyment,  yet  from 
analogy  we  may  be  assured  that  there  is  for  this  a 
positive  law,  as  mathematically  exact  in  its  opera- 
tions as  gravitation  or  crystallization.    Ai't  cannot 


THE  LIMIT  OF  ART,  *  361 


rival  nature,  because  of  their  essential  difference 
in  means,  the  former  wielding  few,  and  subject  to 
the  limitations  of  matter  at  second-hand,  the  latter 
having  at  command  the  entire  laboratory  of  God, 
inspired  by  his  will.  At  the  same  time,  the 
science  of  nature  is  not  the  limit  of  art.  She  has 
something  given  her  to  do  apart  from  the  uses 
and  objects  of  nature,  and  therefore  must  not  be 
circumscribed  by  scientific  law.  When  art  in 
spirit  departs  from  the  position  of  imitator  or 
copyist,  it  may  be  that  either  she  is  asserting  her 
own  independence  of  creative  will,  in  the  fulfil- 
ment of  a  new  prophecy  and  revelation,  or  that 
she  is  misled  by  error  and  ignorance.  Between 
art  and  nature,  the  spectator  is  the  judge.  Of 
one  thing  he  may  be  sure :  until  the  artist  ascer- 
tains the  true  relation  between  cause  and  effect  in 
the  management  of  his  materials,  he  must,  at  the 
best,  work  at  random,  or  under  the  guidance  of 
that  feeling  for  the  true  and  beautiful  which,  when 
successful  in  its  highest  degree,  we  call  genius, 
but  which  in  general  is  but  a  groping  of  the  mind 
from  darkness  for  light,  and  keeping  right  only  in 
degree  of  its  knowledge. 

The  difference  between  art  and  science  is  the 
form  under  which  the  spirit  of  either  is  rendered, 
the  one  seeking  to  incarnate  it  as  beauty,  a  thing 
of  love  and  joy,  and  the  other  as  abstract  law  or 
material  fact,  an  instrument  of  power  or  a  can- 
on of  wisdom.  Each  is  requisite  for  the  com- 
plete existence  of  the  other.  Indeed,  throughout 
nature  they  are  twins  in  being,  but  not  in  degree  ; 
for,  although  beauty  and  its  offspring,  art,  are  the 


362     *         REPOSE  OF  SCIENCE. 


result  of  absolute  law,  yet  nature  as  well  as  man 
exercises  a  choice  as  to  whether  the  useful  and 
scientific  or  the  beautiful  and  artistic  shall  most 
predominate  in  the  external  expression  given  to 
objects. 

We  now  arrive  at  an  important  inquiry  as  to 
their  relative  moral  effects.  Why  is  it  that  moral 
science  or  wisdom  in  its  loftiest  flights  leads  to 
philosophical  repose  ?  How  is  it  that  it  exalts 
the  mind  above  sense,  basing  it  solidly  upon  divine 
law,  so  that  past,  present,  and  future  are  to  it  but 
the  peaceful,  progressive  to-day  ;  leading  it  to  a 
secure  reliance  upon  that  Providence  it  so  beau- 
tifully reveals  ;  making  it  charitable,  unselfish, 
trustful,  and  obedient ;  a  little  child,  through  faith 
inspired  by  knowledge  ;  all  being  true,  good,  and 
lovely  that  it  has  learned,  all  that  there  is  to 
learn  must  be  still  more  so ;  the  heart  growing 
serene,  simple,  and  peaceful,  as  its  spirit-sight 
penetrates  the  vast  unknown,  through  the  por- 
tals of  the  known  ?  Why  is  it  that  this  science 
of  the  future  thus  blesses  its  possessor,  though  it 
may  bring  upon  him  the  reproach,  misunderstand- 
ing, or  persecution  of  the  world,  while,  though  he 
may  be  the  idol  of  the  day,  art  so  often  disturbs 
the  harmony  of  the  artist  with  himself,  society, 
and  God,  that  its  genius  has  become  too  pro- 
verbial for  eccentricity  or  wretchedness?  Why 
is  it  that  the  intellectual  or  spiritual  repose  of 
a  Socrates,  Plato,  Newton,  Swedenborg,  Fichte, 
Boelune,  Kant,  Channing,  or  Humboldt,  is  opposed 
by  the  passional  unrest  of  a  Sappho,  Jeremiah, 
Dante,  Petrarch,  Tasso,  Burns,  Byron,  Keats,  and 


UNREST  OF  ART. 


363 


Shelley :  high  philosophy  and  high  art  ever  in 
severe  contrast  in  the  relative  happiness  they 
confer  upon  their  greatest  disciples  ? 

Judging  of  poetry  simply  by  the  erratic  impulses 
of  the  poetical  faculty  in  individuals,  one  is  tempted 
to  call  it  the  weak  side  of  God.  Genius  in  song 
is  even  more  eccentric  and  unbalanced  than  when 
it  descends  into  the  hand,  and  is  represented  by 
plastic  art.  But  both  poets  and  artists,  from  their 
being  born  on  the  love  and  beauty  side  of  life,  are 
more  subject  to  the  caprices  and  antagonisms  of 
feeling  than  sages,  whose  ideal  of  good,  through 
reflection,  aspires  more  directly  to  wisdom.  In 
proportion  as  this  element  is  received  into  the 
artist-mind,  by  establishing  a  mental  equilibrium, 
it  produces  more  harmonious  and  universal  men, 
appreciable  in  degree  to  all  temperaments,  truly 
greater  from  being  wiser,  though  not  always  reach- 
ing to  the  particular  spiritual  insight  of  those  more 
sensitive  beings  whose  hearts  are  self-devoured 
from  the  failure  of  the  actual  to  correspond  with 
visions  which  too  often  blast  their  souls  "with 
excess  of  light."  With  such,  art  is  more  the  dis- 
closure of  their  own  than  of  the  universal  soul, 
which  we  find  in  men  who,  like  Shakspeare,  Mil- 
ton, Goethe,  and  Wordsworth,  unite  the  poetical 
and  prose  elements  in  more  justly  balanced  de- 
grees. By  prose  we  mean  the  science  that  com- 
prehends life,  morally,  intellectually,  and  physical- 
ly, but  whose  instincts  repose  more  in  law  than 
beauty,  though  fully  recognizing  the  need  and 
power  of  the  latter  to  make  the  former  loved. 

AH  men  demand  beauty,  first,  as  a  primary  in- 


364 


POETRY  ABSTRACT  ART. 


stinct,  and,  secondly,  in  degree  and  quality  in  ac- 
cordance mth  their  mental  growth.  Art  is  its 
material  form.  Poetry  is  abstract  art.  Its  pict- 
ures are  addressed  to  the  inner  sight.  With  the 
exception  of  a  certain  cadence  in  words,  of  value 
only  as  it  corresponds  to  the  idea,  it  is  wholly 
ideal,  and  commends  itself  to  man's  sense  of  spir- 
itual beauty  and  truth.  But  no  beauty  that  is 
not  approved  of  reason  and  conscience  secures  to 
itself  a  permanent  repose  in  his  hd^rt.  Greek 
poets  understood  this  principle  as  well  as  their 
artists.  Although  their  understanding  was  less 
spiritual  than  the  Christian,  yet  their  genius  still 
retains  its  sway,  from  its  harmoniously  combining 
beauty  with  rule ;  form,  action,  and  song  being  a 
revelation  of  nature's  truths,  under  their  most  po- 
etical aspects.  Beauty  thus  cherished  ceases  to 
be  a  fatal  gift  either  to  possessor  or  receiver. 

Christianity,  in  elevating  and  enlarging  the 
life-motive,  requires  of  beauty  the  loftiest  and 
purest  unity  with  truth.  As  it  recognizes  but 
one  God,  of  equal  and  immutable  love  and 
wisdom,  so  it  knows  but  one  perfect  source  of 
inspiration.  The  ideal  of  art  or  science  must 
centre  in  His  beauty  and  law.  There  can  be 
complete  and  harmonious  manifestation  of  either 
only  as  each  reflects  the  other.  Beauty,  to  be 
perfect,  must  correspond  with  science ;  science, 
to  be  complete,  must  be  beautiful.  This  is  a 
necessary  corollary  of  divine  perfection,  which 
consists  of  an  equilibrium  in  attributes  and 
powers.  All  life  short  of  the  divine  must,  of 
necessity,  vary  from  perfection  in  the  degree  of 


IDEAL  OF  ART  OR  SCIENCE. 


365 


distance  from  Him.  Education,  in  its  correct 
appreciation,  is  the  training  which  best  estab- 
lishes that  equipoise  of  power  and  feeling  in 
man  which  most  accords  with  divinity.  Our  hap- 
piness depends  upon  our  nearness  to  Him.  The 
Greek,  equally  with  the  Christian,  was  cognizant 
of  this  truth ;  but  the  difference  between  the 
character  of  the  two  sprang  from  their  varied  'ob- 
ligations of  duty,  founded  upon  their  respective 
conceptions  of  God.  This  is  as  true  of  individu- 
als as  races ;  therefore  the  quality  of  artistic  in- 
spiration must  depend  upon  the  feelings  and  per- 
ceptions of  the  age  or  artist,  though  all  true  art 
can  have  but  a  common  aim,  namely,  through 
beauty  to  educate  man  to  a  better  understanding 
and  more  perfect  love  of  the  Creator. 

We  have  said,  that,  as  feeling  precedes  reason 
in  the  process  of  education,  it  follows  that  the 
unrestrained  inclination  of  man  is  primarily  to- 
wards sensation  and  beauty.  Wisdom  is  born  of 
the  later-aroused  reflective  faculties.  Poet-artists 
are  the  prophets  and  messengers  of  truth  in  the 
garb  of  beauty,  .as  are  sages  its  teachers  in  the 
abstract  shape.  Owing  to  the  natural  inequilib- 
rium  of  human  power,  arising  from  defective  wills 
and  understandings  and  a  multitude  of  esoteric 
agencies  of  nature  the  results  of  which  we  be- 
come conscious  of  before  comprehending  the  law 
of  their  action,  poets  and  artists  too  often  yield  to 
the  force  of  impulse,  and  pursue  careers  of  de- 
spondency, illumined  by  fitful  flashes  of  glorious 
light,  revealing  both  their  disappointment  and 
their  deathless  hope.    They  may  wring  out  their 


366  WELL-BALANCED  MINDS. 


lives,  drop  by  drop,  in  anguish,  protesting  against 
man's  neglect  of  divine  beauty ;  but  a  belief  in 
something  high  and  noble  remains  ever  within 
them.  Skepticism  is  not  born  of  poetry.  The 
life- principles  of  this  divine  gift  are  sympathy 
and  faith.  Poets'  souls  burn  in  sight  of  the  fu- 
ture revealed  through  their  imaginations.  If 
they  sing  of  the  past,  it  is  in  harmonious  strains, 
that  appeal  alike  to  the  consciousness  of  all  ages ; 
if  of  the  actual  present,  they  make  to  themselves 
a  common  joy.  But  when  they  speak  of  their 
inward  future,  their  words  to  the  multitude  seem 
like  a  vain  sound,  or  the  delirium  of  a  dream. 
In  proportion  as  the  poetical  and  philosophigal 
temperaments  are  equally  and  largely  intermin- 
gled in  one  man,  he  becomes  a  great  teacher. 
Of  this  class  of  well-balanced,  highly  illumined 
minds  are  Plato,  Shakspeare,  and  Swedenborg. 
In  art  its  type  is  best  characterized  in  Leonardo 
da  Vinci.  In  him  genius  descends  into  actual 
life.  Whether  treating  the  humblest  plant  or  the 
most  repulsive  reptile,  landscape  or  figure,  the 
strife  of  brutal  men  or  the  loving  tenderness 
and  sad  reproach  of  the  Saviour,  the  indignant 
surprise  of  Peter,  the  affection  of  John,  or  the 
avarice  and  treachery  of  Judas,  angelic  expres- 
sion or  the  astonishing  creations  of  his  own  imag- 
ination, unlike  aught  of  earth,  yet  terrific  and 
sublime  in  their  seeming  naturalness,  we  find  in 
everything  he  did  that  thorough  application  of 
science  to  feeling  which  leads  to  perfect  art. 

Artists  like  Blake  are  misunderstood,  because 
going  beyond  the  external  consciousness  of  their 


INFIRMITY  OF  ARTISTIC  MIND.  ;3t>7 


age,  and  treating  of  life  in  its  divorce  from  mat- 
ter: the  substantiality  of  existence  beyond  the 
tomb,  so  unreal  to  the  ordinary  mind.  He  awaits 
his  audience.  .  Others,  like  Haydon,  shipwreck 
existence,  and  reflect  their  intolerance  and  exag- 
geration amid  much  that  is  clever  and  noble, 
from  the  egotism  common  to  those  whose  feel- 
ings, by  over-balancing  reason,  keep  their  moral 
faculties  in  perpetual  disorder,  and  lead  them  to 
refer  all  men  and  subjects  to  the  standard  of  an 
excessive  I.  Ruskin,  to  a  certain  extent,  is 
another  instance  of  the  infirmity  of  the  artistic 
mind  to  be  so  seduced  by  single  truths  or  iso- 
lated feelings  as  to  lose  sight  of  the  higher  and 
more  universal,  and  thus  largely  to  disqualify  its 
judgment  and  defeat  its  intent.  In  an  opposite 
and  still  more  faulty  one-sidedness  are  artists 
like  the  American  sculptor.  Hart,  who  invents 
a  machine  to  reduce  sculpture  to  an  external 
accuracy  of  lines  and  dots.  This,  indeed,  may 
give  the  crust  of  mind  ;  but  feeling  and  thought 
depend  upon  the  artist  himself  No  machine 
can  compensate  for  their  absence. 

The  need  of  art  is,  therefore,  mental  equipoise 
and  more  patient  and  combined  investigation.  Its 
inherent  weaknesses  are  one-sidedness,  extrava- 
gance, suspicion,  intolerance,  haste,  jealousy,  want 
of  completeness  intellectually,  and  of  harmony 
morally.  To  counteract  the  excessive  impulses 
of  feeling,  and  the  tendency  of  artistic  thought  to 
narrowness  of  intellectual  vision  and  an  exuber- 
ance of  individualism,  it  requires  a  greater  cul- 
tivation of  the  scientific  and  reflective  faculties. 


368  GENIUS  MUST  LABOR, 


The  discipline  of  philosophy  is  ever  beneficial  to 
the  imagination,  as  may  be  seen  in  those  few 
great  minds  which  have  so  admirably  combined 
the  two  that  the  world  is  in  doubt  whether  to 
esteem  them  most  as  poets,  artists,  or  sages. 

Genius  should  not,  however,  be  enslaved  by 
law,  nor  misled  by  feeling.  True  genius  is  an 
apparently  unconscious,  spontaneous  action  of  law, 
noble  and  natural  in  all  that  it  does,  whether  lit- 
tle or  great.  Its  greatness  consists  in  its  truth- 
fulness to  nature.  But  genius  is  in  itself  rather 
an  innate  force  of  mind,  tempered  by  material 
circumstance,  though  partaking  in  a  high  degree 
of  spiritual  clairvoyance,  and  thus  making  it  in 
generals  anticipatory  of  the  coming  truths  of  the 
age,  than  a  definite,  positive  revelation  of  partic- 
ular truths,  without  self-effort  or  will.  Its  native 
manifestations  are  irregular  in  manner  and  va- 
ried in  quality.  Therefore,  though  it  may  be  ac- 
counted in  its  possessors  as  a  divine  gift,  over 
and  above  the  measure  of  ordinary  humanity,  yet 
it  is  subjected,  for  its  perfect  expression,  to  the 
study  and  labor  common  to  all  men  who  would 
win  to  themselves  the  power  and  repose  of  wis- 
dom. If  it  bestow  more  upon  the  individual,  it 
also  requires  more  of  him.  His  penalties  of  mis- 
application are  in  ratio  to  his  joys  of  appreciation. 
Therein  God  shows  his  unerring  justice.  He 
gives  to  all  as  they  are  qualified  to  receive,  and 
holds  each  to  a  strict  responsibility  in  use.  So 
fearful  is  this  responsibility,  and  so  liable  to 
abuse,  that  the  earthly  destiny  of  genius  is  a  pro- 
verbial warning  to  the  common  mind  not  to  covet 


GENIUS  INDISPENr.ABLE. 


869 


an  excess  of  the  divine  light.  Apollo  alone  safely 
guides  the  chariot  of  the  sun. 

Notwithstanding  its  dangers,  genius  is  indis- 
pensable to  high  art.  It  is  its  elementary  force. 
In  science  we  find  no  routine  of  individual  repro- 
duction, as  in  art,  bu,t  a  systematic  unfolding  of 
progressive  truths ;  so  that  the  startling  or  dis- 
credited discovery  of  one  age  becomes  the  famil- 
iar knowledge  of  the  next.  Thus  a  mighty  whole 
is  gradually  built  up.  Nature  gives  freely,  as 
she  is  pertinaciously  asked.  Scientific  men  pro- 
claim and  combine  their  results.  Throughout 
the  world  they  are  a  living  brotherhood,  connect- 
ed by  the  common  pursuit  of  knowledge  for  prac- 
tical ends.  Is  a  system,  which  is  so  favorable 
to  science,  applicable  to  art  ?  Or,  as  we  before 
put  the  question,  how  far  is  it  possible  to  avoid 
the  reproduction  in  art  which  so  delays  its  prog- 
ress as  compared  with  science  ? 

Just  as  far  as  knowledge  is  transferable,  and 
no  farther.  A  material  fact  or  philosophical 
thought,  once  established,  becomes  common  prop- 
erty. Every  discovery  in  the  laws  of  matter 
which  affects  the  elementary  substances  in  art- 
use,  simply  or  combined,  should  be  carefully  scru- 
tinized, to  detect  its  practicability  to  enlarge  or 
improve  the  means  of  art.  Perspective,  of  which 
so  little  was  formerly  known,  is  now  reduced  by 
science  to  so  simple  a  study  that  a  school-girl  in 
this  respect  can  surpass  the  efforts  of  ancient  mas- 
ters. 

If  art  paid  more  attention  to  the  theory  of 
light,  making  public  the  results  of  individual 
24 


370      SCIENTIFIC  PROGRESS  OF  ART. 

experiments  or  the  secrets  of  peculiar  effects, 
why  might  not  an  equal  certainty  and  skill  be 
obtained  in  the  use  of  colors  as  of  lines  ?  The 
system  of  painting  continues  to  be  one  of  acci- 
dent, or  of  arbitrary  method.  Successful  results  of 
lucky  mixtures  are  still  concealed  as  if  they  were 
golden  secrets  ;  the  curiosity  of  the  public  is  ex- 
cited, but  not  enlightened,  by  private  experiment. 
Our  artists  begin,  in  this  respect,  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  science  of  coloring,  reaping  small 
benefit  from  the  experience  of  their  predecessors. 
Science  advances  by  the  accumulation  of  knowl- 
edge. Apply  this  rule  to  the  perfection  of  col- 
ors, and  the  means  of  art  generally,  each  artist 
conscientiously  contributing  his  discoveries  to  the 
common  stock,  and  there  would  soon  cease  to  be 
a  perpetually  recurring  infancy,  or  disappointment 
in  its  material  expression.  We  know  that  every 
color  is  the  fact  of  an  absolute  law,  and  undoubt- 
edly can  be  made  a  sure  servant  of  art,  mas- 
tery of  hand  being  equal.  Wlien  science  has 
bestowed  upon  art  the  entire  secrets  of  pig- 
ments, and  a  more  correct  and  facile  manage- 
ment of  material,  certain  coveted  effects  will  be 
secured,  with  unmistakable  accuracy,  upon  the 
canvas  in  the  outset  of  an  artist's  career,  and  his 
time  gained  for  the  development  of  that  which, 
being  born  wholly  of  the  individual,  is  as  untrans- 
ferable as  existence  itself. 

Science,  by  enlarging  the  area  of  thought  and 
observation,  demands  more  than  it  once  did.  It 
measures  the  capacity  of  art  by  its  own  depth 
and  breadth.    Not  only  does  it  exact  excellence 


NEW  TRUTHS,  NEW  FORMS.  371 

in  the  use  of  material,  but  harmony  with  spirit, 
because  it  sees  into  the  law  of  unity.  What  art 
has  done  are  to  it  but  indications,  and  not  the 
finality  of  power.  As  with  science  each  step 
widens  the  horizon,  discovering  new  divinity 
in  the  law,  order,  and  sequence  that  it  discloses, 
so  it  sees,  in  its  intellectual  illumination,  a  field 
as  new  and  limitless  for  art  as  for  its  own  in- 
terpenetration.  New  truths  develop  new  forms. 
The  back  view,  though  it  ranges  over  decades 
of  centuries  of  civilization,  looks  narrow  and  con- 
fined, compared  with  the  illimitable  expanse  above 
and  beyond.  Until  art  has  exhausted  God,  it 
may  not  complain  of  wanting  a  future.  But  so 
long  as  it  clings  convulsively  to  the  past,  or  la- 
bors only  in  the  material  present,  presenting  the 
common  and  little,  it  will  be  without  fulness  of 
life  and  promise. 

There  are  two  legitimate  sources  for  high  art. 
First,  the  deductive,  or  that  which  is  based  on 
nature  as  the  teacher,  suggesting  spirit  by  form, 
to  be  judged  not  as  imitation,  but  as  the  divine 
working  in  the  natural,  in  obedience  to  the  laws 
of  science. 

Secondly,  the  inductive  in  principle,  having  its 
foundation  in  the  innate  creative  faculty,  seizing 
ideas  in  their  inmost  significance,  and  creating 
for  them  corresponding  forms,  which  out  of  their 
spirit-depths  ovei'power  our  senses,  and  recom- 
mend themselves  to  our  imagination  as  comport- 
ing with  its  view  of,  and  faith  in,  things  and  joys 
unseen.  They  may  not  necessarily  have  simil- 
itude to  known  objects,  and  yet  have  the  force 


372 


WHERE  ART  ENDS. 


of  the  inevitable.  Whether  of  good  or  evil  im- 
port, they  are  to  be  classed  as  supernatural  and 
strange  to  the  external  view,  being  with  or  with- 
out kin  in  kind  on  earth,  yet  true  and  real  to 
the  interior  sight.  In  Shakspeare,  in  the  "  Tem- 
pest," this  was  a  second  sight;  but  in  Dante, 
Swedenborg,  Milton,  and  Blake,  it  was  their  pri- 
mary vision.  Their  imaginations  dwelt  more  on 
the  unseen  than  the  seen ;  and  yet  in  actual  life 
they  preserved  sane  and  noble  minds,  aspiring 
and  believing  because  they  saw  into  the  future. 

Lastly,  we  cannot  repeat  this  law  too  often  : 
art,  like  God's  works,  should  seem  self-existing. 
Without  labor  and  study  it  cannot  be  perfect; 
but  it  ought  to  disguise  its  means  in  its  natural- 
ness, as  if  the  artist  said,  "  Let  my  idea  live," 
and  it  lives.  The  highest  art  ends  here.  Seem- 
ingly spontaneous,  yet  obedient  to  human  will,  it 
reconciles  itself  to  nature,  and  makes  its  author 
partake  of  the  attributes  of  the  great  Author  of 
all. 

This  much  men  must  require  of  art  for  perfect 
satisfaction.  If  it  have  the  capacity,  which  it 
would  be  impious  to  doubt,  in  its  ultimate  unfold- 
ings,  of  representing  to  us  as  sentient  beings  all 
that  we  are  capable  of  feehng  and  knowing,  then 
we  are  right  in  demanding  of  art,  in  whatever  form 
it  speaks,  unmistakable  expression  of  its  highest 
qualities.  Artist  and  spectator,  though  different- 
ly gifted  in  power  and  form  of  soul-expression, 
have  still  a  common  past  and  future.  It  is  the 
duty,  therefore,  of  the  artist,  if  he  would  maintain 
his  rightful  position  as  teacher  and  interpreter  of 


CREATIVE  POWER. 


873 


Beauty,  so  to  cultivate  his  own  soul  as  to  keep 
not  merely  intellectual  pace  with  his  constituents, 
but  far  enough  in  advance  to  continually  stimu- 
late their  faculties  to  their  fullest  limits  of  thought 
and  feeling  by  the  successive  glimpses  he  gives 
them  of  the  unutterable  things  that  lie  beyond 
both,  far-reaching  into  eternal  joy.  Nay,  more. 
The  artist  who  would  fulfil  his  entire  mission  must 
manifest  the  completeness  of  his  divine  credentials 
by  displaying  creative  power.  For  this  rare  fac- 
ulty^  in  its  perfection  sublime,  most  closely  affirms 
the  tie  of  genius  with  its  Creator.  Beyond  it  he 
may  not  aspire.  The  kingdom  given  him  is  alike 
over  mind  and  matter.  Its  possession  is  to  be 
won,  not  with  the  pride  and  self-sufficiency,  nor 
with  the  artifice,  indolence,  and  superficiality,  of 
the  carnal  heart,  delighting  in  the  incense  of 
easily-won  applause,  as  temporary  as  are  its  tri- 
umphs trivial  and  hollow,  but  with  prayer,  faith, 
and  sincerity,  humble  in  view  of  the  exalted 
work  given  him  to  do,  and  yet,  sustained  by  its 
beauty  and  dignity,  firm  against  the  assaults  of 
vanity,  falsehood,  avarice,  and  mean  fame,  strong 
and  true  by  virtue  of  his  sight  into  things  unseen, 
and  self-poised  by  culture  of  heavenly  wisdom. 
Thus  should,  yea,  will  the  rightly  inspired  artist 
labor.  Eye  has  not  yet  seen  nor  ear  heard  the 
entire  compass  of  even  what  exists  in  the  king- 
dom of  nature,  around  our  external  senses  ;  much 
less  has  the  mind  wholly  penetrated  its  prolific 
and  harmonious  correspondence  with  the  final 
destiny  of  the  human  soul.  Mighty  wonders 
surround  our  daily  steps,  prophecies  in  matter  of 


374 


AET  GOD  WARD, 


that  glorious  futurity  Christianity  seeks  to  impress 
upon  our  hearts,  in  accents  of  peace  and  hope. 
Hence,  there  is  a  cogent  stimulus  to  the  teacher 
and  the  taught,  each  reacting  upon  the  other,  giv- 
ing and  receiving,  in  mutual  appreciation,  the  ar- 
tist fulfilling  the  law  of  progress,  and  the  specta- 
tor the  law  of  sympathy.  Herein  lies  also  the 
scope  and  direction  of  art,  God  ward  ;  spirit 
talking  through  matter,  face  to  face  with  man,  as 
the  Almighty  spoke  to  Moses.  But,  to  arrive  at 
this  degree  of  comprehension  of  art,  we  must  first 
walk  patiently  and  humbly,  receptive  to  those 
pure  influences  which  are  constantly  knocking 
at  the  door  of  our  hearts,  with  untiring  love, 
leaduig  wisdom  by  the  hand,  desirous  to  enter 
and  find  a  home  therein.  When  we  began  our 
art-education,  like  an  infant  that  pleases  itself  in 
picking  out  the  letters  of  the  alphabet,  we  re- 
joiced to  find  out  names  from  styles ;  now,  some- 
thing more  than  external  form  is  required.  We 
must  have  great  principles  in  art,  truths  that 
make  this  world  joyous  and  instructive,  and  the 
next  bright  with  hope  and  faith.  K  our  thoughts 
and  experience,  fellow-pilgrim  on  earth,  have 
helped  you  on  your  way,  they  have  performed 
a  double  duty,  bringing  good  to  you  and  to  us. 
May  God  guide  us  both. 


APPENDIX. 


NOTE  A. 

We  are  aware  that  the  authenticity  of  the  bust  of 
^sop  is  doubted,  and  probably  with  reason ;  for  the 
era  of  bust  and  statue  portraiture  began  about  the 
time  of  Alexander  the  Great.  The  Greeks  created 
effigies  of  their  public  men,  as  we  know  to  have  been 
the  case  with  Homer,  the  Seven  Sages,  and  others. 
But  it  is  highly  probable  that  there  existed,  in  all 
these  instances,  traditional  likenesses  or  descriptions 
bearing  a  general  resemblance  to  the  originals,  which 
the  Greek  artists  used  as  the  foundation  of  their  par- 
tially imaginary  portraits,  adding  thereto,  through  the 
power  of  their  subtile  and  marvellous  idealization,  a 
heroic  and  generic  type,  indicative  of  the  highest 
qualities  of  the  personages  they  sought  to  represent. 
In  this  manner  it  is  true  that  accurate  external  indi- 
viduality must  be  more  or  less  varied  from ;  but  in  its 
place  we  possess  a  nobler  portraiture ;  and,  if  we  class 
the  ideahsm  of  the  inner  man  under  forms  most  char- 
acteristic of  prominent  mental  traits  and  of  the  loftiest 
feelings  and  aspirations  as  superior  to  the  merely  su- 
perficially correct  exterior  figure  in  preserving  to  the 
public  the  deeper  truths  of  individuality,  we  have  a 
realism  of  character  in  these  portraits  more  absolute 
and  refined  than  could  possibly  be  given  by  the  most 
careful  and  elaborate  Denner-like  art.  We  see  the 
heroes  of  antiquity  as  the  most  appreciative  minds  of 


376 


APPENDIX. 


kindred  generations  saw  them.  Their  spiritualized 
presences  are  before  us.  It  is  not  necessary,  as  we 
find  in  the  case  of  iEsop,  that  the  idealism  should  be 
one  of  mere  beauty,  but  it  must  be  of  that  type  which 
shall  best  represent  the  highest  and  most  noted  points 
of  character  in  the  individual  in  question.  In  short, 
it  is  high  creative  art ;  for,  esteeming  as  secondary, 
or  not  requiring  the  physical  exterior  to  copy  from, 
genius  builds  up  as  it  were  from  its  inmost  conscious- 
ness and  appreciativeness  of  mental  attributes  a  form 
to  correspond  with  their  best  expression.  Thus,  by 
revealing  to  the  spectator  the  inward  qualities  of  the 
man,  in  preference  to  the  external  and  commonplace, 
he  is  actually  brought  more  spiritually  in  sympathy 
with  him  than  he  could  possibly  be  by  any  other 
principle.  Of  this  character  are  the  touchingly 
beautiful  traditionary  heads  of  Christ  and  St.  John, 
actual  likenesses,  though  the  artist  never  saw  either 
in  the  flesh,  of  their  sorrowful  yet  loving  relationships 
to  each  other  and  an  erring  world. 

The  essence  of  Greek  genius  lies  in  its  capacity  for 
noble  ideahsm,  whether  the  subject  exist  only  in  the 
imagination  or  as  an  actual  sitter. 

Eoman  portrait-art  was  the  reverse  of  this.  It 
was  hard,  practical,  exact,  disguising  no  unpleasant 
physical  facts,  but  reproducing  the  outward  man 
with  the  pitiless  fidelity  of  the  daguerreotype.  It  was 
characteristic  of  the  seven-hilled  civilization,  which 
delighted  in  exhibitions  of  strength,  power,  national 
triumphs,  and  all  that  bespoke  the  haughty,  conquer- 
ing, implacable,  hard-headed  Roman.  His  intellect- 
ual force  being  based  chiefly  upon  the  lower  faculties, 
the  divine  spirituality  of  the  Greek  was  foreign  to 
him ;  therefore  his  inspiration  led  him  to  matter-of- 
fact  art,  and  to  conceal  no  evil  of  his  rulers.  The 
comparatively  brutal  type  of  Roman  busts  in  general 


APPENDIX 


377 


contrasts  unfavorably  with  the  intellectual  idealism 
and  beauty  -  worship  of  Greek  art.  Both  are  valu- 
able, as  letting  us  into  the  secret  causes  of  the  re- 
spective parts  which  each  nation  has  filled  in  human 
history. 

NOTE  B. 

The  following  verses  by  Thornbury  graphically  de- 
pict Dutch  Protestant  art :  — 

Never  thoughtful,  wise,  or  sainted,  — 
This  is  how  the  Dutchman  painted,  — 
Glossy  satin,  all  a-shine ; 
Amber  silk,  as  bright  as  wine. 

Red-nosed  rascal,  cap  awrj'-, 
Holding  flagon  to  his  eye. 
Every  word  a  curse  or  lie. 

Utrecht  feasts  and  Zealand  dances. 
Drunken  skips  and  reeling  prances, 
Troopers  with  red  drums  and  lances. 

Gallants  robed  in  purple  cloak, 
Orange-scarfed,  who  drink  and  smoke, 
Careless  what  boor's  head  is  broke. 

Ladies  trim  in  scarlet  bodice, 
Swansdown-edged,  each  one  a  goddess, 
But  laughing  at  an  ape,  —  which  odd  is. 

Knaves  in  steeple-hats,  who  lean 
Over  door-hatch ;  vine-leaved  green  . 
Gadding  round  the  window-screen. 

Brutal  boors,  who  strum  a  lute,  — 
Screw  their  faces  to  a  flute,  — 
Gray  and  scarlet  each  man's  suit. 


378 


APPENDIX. 


Pipers  maddening  a  fair; 
Mountebanks  who  make  fools  stare; 
Drunken  fights,  with  lugging  hair. 

Cavaliers  in  silver  gray, 
Looking,  in  a  sodden  way. 
At  the  skittle-players'  fray. 

Tranquil  groups  of  dappled  kine, 
Yellow-red,  or  dark  as  wine ; 
Willows  standing  in  a  line. 

Long  canals  'mid  sunny  grass, 
Where  the  barges  drag  and  pass, 
Stared  at  by  the  milking-lass. 

Cuyp's  rich  mellow  gold  I  see,  — 
Teniers'  silver  purity,  — 
Potter's  broad  serenit}'-,  — 

Jewel-color,  clear  of  dye,— 
Crystal,  tender  to  the  eye, 
Subtle  in  each  harmony. 

Glossy  satin's  rolling  shine ; 
Amber  silk,  as  bright  as  wine; 
Never  thoughtful,  wise,  or  sainted, — 
This  is  how  the  Dutchman  painted. 


NOTE  C. 

We  have  in  view,  to  illustrate  a  felicitous  union 
of  naturalism  of  form  with  a  certain  idealism  of  char- 
acter, a  recent  picture  by  H.  D.  Morse,  an  amateur 
artist.  It  is  a  study  of  a  Startled  Doe,  with  ears 
thrown  different  ways,  detective  of  danger.  There 
is  in  it  no  littleness  of  treatment  and  hair-counting 


APPENDIX, 


379 


mechanism,  but  broad  naturalistic  truth  and  vigorous 
conception.  Being  a  sketch  only,  it  is  thin  in  color. 
The  strong  point  is  the  animal's  self  -  consciousness. 
Its  nature  and  habits  are  clearly  revealed.  We  see  at 
once  not  only  what  it  will  do,  but  what  only  it  can 
do,  the  quality  of  its  instincts  and  movements.  So 
much  struck  were  we  with  its  superiority  in  this  re- 
spect that  we  ventured  to  inquire  the  cause.  The 
reply  was  such  a  clue  to  the  attainment  of  noble 
truth  in  art  that  the  artist  will,  we  trust,  forgive  us  for 
making  it  public.  He  had  had  a  very  poor  model, 
which  had  given  him  great  trouble;  otherwise,  he 
fancied,  he  should  have  done  better.  "  Pardon  us," 
we  replied  ;  "  but  your  cause  for  not  doing  better 
seems  to  us  the  real  cause  of  your  success.  Your 
model  was  sufficient  for  general  form  and  detail. 
Forced  to  rely  on  your  own  knowledge  of  the  habits 
and  instincts  of  the  animal,  you  have  created  him 
partly  out  of  your  own  consciousness  or  idealization. 
Had  you  had  a  more  perfect  model  to  yom^  eye,  you 
would,  perhaps,  have  been  seduced  into  mere  imita- 
tion. As  it  was,  you  have  evolved  a  picture  vital 
with  the  real  instincts  and  movement  of  the  doe." 


NOTE  D. 

Harvard  College  is  no  worse  than  other  olden 
institutions  for  drilling  young  men's  memories  in  dead 
languages,  holding  the  knowledge  of  Greek  accents 
or  roots  to  be  of  more  account  than  the  thought  the 
Grecian  tongue  contains,  and  for  recitations  by  rote 
on  hard  benches  after  the  custom  of  infant-schools. 
It  has  certain  defined  purposes,  but  does  it  reaHze 
them  ?  The  general  result  is  a  few  brilliant  scholars, 
much  cultivated  dulness,  a  great  mass  of  diluted  ideas 


380 


APPENDIX, 


at  third  -  hand,  and  indifference  to  knowledge  at 
large.  Many  of  the  undergraduates  regard  the  col- 
lege as  a  place  to  train,  not  scholars,  for  they  are 
held  to  be  "  digs  "  and  avoided,  but  "  gentlemen." 
If  it  did  really  do  this,  in  the  sense  of  the  highest 
type  of  a  man,  the  country  would  rejoice.  But  the 
"  gentleman  "  there  current  has  a  very  small  concep- 
tion of  the  large  instincts  and  great  ambitions  of  hu- 
manity, none  at  all  of  its  real  duties,  but  a  vast  es- 
timate of  his  individual  value.  Electing  himself  a 
member  of  the  would-be-called  aristocracy,  an  annual 
crop  of  which  comes  and  goes  with  the  ebb  and  flow 
of  property,  he  is  a  fortunate  man  if  he  do  not 
subside  into  a  shallow  snob  of  the  exquisite  pattern, 
filled  with  "  a  divine  idea  of  cloth,"  as  Carlyle  has 
it,  one  of  the  fast  -  increasing  and  inutile  jeunesse 
dore  of  America.  We  deplore,  for  the  sake  of  grand 
old  Massachusetts,  the  increase  of  this  kind  of  popu- 
lation, especially,  if  it  be  owing  to  the  mistakes  of  its 
pet  college.  That  there  is  something  wrong  in  its 
atmosphere  is  evident  fi^om  the  fact  that  a  diligent 
student  is  unhonored  by  the  mass  of  his  classmates, 
while  recently  a  proposition  was  made  to  call  in  the 
city-police  to  aid  the  Faculty  to  put  down  "  hazing  " 
by  the  Sophomores,  thus  virtually  confessing  their  in- 
ability to  maintain  discipline.  What  can  be  done  by 
Harvard,  with  its  vast  resources,  to  train  up  American 
citizens  and  Christian  gentlemen,  is  a  question  that 
the  State  sooner  or  later  must  inquire  into.  Vir- 
tually, the  college  regards  Boston  as  its  villein.  There 
is,  however,  another  Boston  which  occasionally  speaks 
for  itself,  and  will  be  heard  more  and  more  as  it  feels 
its  power.  It  is  unrecognized  only  at  its  own  door- 
steps. The  men  and  women  of  Boston  who  implant 
and  mature  ideas  are  its  real  solid  people.  Their 
names  are  not  those  most  often  heard  in  the  lauda- 


APPENDIX, 


381 


tory  accents  of  the  press ;  yet  their  influence  is  felt 
all  over  the  continent.  The  sobriquet  "  hub  of  the 
universe,"  given  in  ridicule,  has  a  spice  of  truth  at 
bottom.  Boston  is  a  city  of  extremes.  It  grows 
the  intensest  snobs,  the  meanest  cowardice,  and  thick- 
est-skinned hypocrites,  by  the  side  of  saintly  virtues, 
intellectual  vigor,  general  intelligence,  and  a  devotion 
to  the  highest  interest  of  humanity,  unsurpassed  by 
any  city  in  the  world.  Its  fashionable  manners  seem 
imported  from  Nova  Zembla.  Nowhere  else  does  one 
friend  give  another  only  two  fingers  to  shake,  without 
intending  an  insult.  But  the  same  man  is  prompt 
with  his  bank-check  for  the  public  welfare.  If  a 
stranger  judge  Boston  only  by  its  snobs,  Pharisees,  and 
frozen-zone  atmosphere  of  personal  scrutiny  and  re- 
ception, he  will  coincide  in  the  worst  opinions  of  her 
enemies.  But  it  takes  a  rich  soil  to  grow  strong 
weeds.  Far  outweighing  its  shortcomings,  he  will 
find,  on  looking  farther,  self-sacrificing  hearts  quick 
to  respond  to  noble  instincts,  souls  ripe  in  devotion 
to  generous  ideas,  a  practical  clear-headedness,  a 
not-to-be-bribed-or-turned-aside  love  of  justice,  an 
earnest  wilHngness  of  labor,  and,  above  all,  a  freedom 
which  admits  of  intellectual  growth  in  all  directions, 
despite  time -honored  prejudices,  the  seductions  of 
fashion  and  luxury,  or  the  gibberish  of  cant.  With 
such  rich  salt  of  humanity  vivifying  her  history,  Bos- 
ton need  envy  no  other  city  its  opportunity  for 
greatness. 


THE  END. 


Cambridge:  printed  by  n.  o.  houghton  and  company. 


WORKS  OF  JAMES  J.  JARVES. 


FOR  SALE  BY 

HURD  A^D  HOUGHTON,  New  York, 

AND 

WALKER,  WISE  &  CO.,  Boston. 
— # — 

Art-Studies : 

THE  OLD  MASTERS  OF  ITALY;  Painting. 
In  one  and  two  vols.  8vo.  504  pp.  43  copper- 
plate illustrations.  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge, 
1861. 

"  A  very  competent  and  trustworthy  guide  as  a  writer  upon 
art."  —  London  Saturday  Review. 

"  These  volumes  call  for  warm  praise.  We  shall  be  glad  to 
meet  Mr.  Jarves  again  on  the  same  or  on  a  similar  field  of 
inquiry  as  this,  to  which  he  has  brought  at  once  a  thoroughly 
Christian  spirit  and  a  competent  knowledge  of  his  subject." — 
English  Churchman. 

"  Art-Studies  will  find  admirers  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlan- 
tic."—  London  Spectator. 

"  Mr.  Jarves' s  pages  contain  a  large  store  of  original  mat- 
ter and  of  historical  information.  He  is  very  far  in  advance 
of  his  countrymen,  both  in  method  and  pursuit.  But  enough 
has  been  said  to  lead  to  that  notice  and  perusal  of  the  vol- 
umes themselves,  which,  in  no  ordinary  degree,  they  merit." 
—  London  Athenceum. 

"  Always  readable,  always  enthusiastic,  and  an  agreeable, 
intelUgent  companion.  His  matter  is  well  under  his  hand, 
and  his  manner  easy,  simple,  polished.  We  hope  to  meet 
him  again,"  etc.  — London  Critic. 


2 


**A  subject  on  which  he  discourses  with  unquestionable 
ability,  and  about  which  he  is  entitled  to  speak  with  authority. 
This  work  is  not  only  the  best  of  its  kind  that  has  been  pro- 
duced by  an  American,  but  is  superior  to  many  European 
works  treating  of  similar  topics."  — Westminster  Review, 

"  We  accept  this  work  from  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic 
with  cordial  welcome,  not  unmixed  with  shame  that  we  in 
England  should  still  at  this  time  have  stood  in  need  of  such 
a  contribution  to  our  art -literature."  —  Illustrated  London 
News. 

"  There  is  a  current  of  good  sense,  good  taste,  and  sound 
criticism  running  through  his  volumes,  which  can  scarcely 
fail  to  make  them  popular  with  every  class  of  readers."  — 
London  Observer, 

"  A  most  welcome  addition  to  our  art-literature.  "We  ad- 
mire the  spirit  of  this  book,  a  spirit  searching  diligently  after 
truth  of  art,  endeavoring  to  realize  it,  and  ardently  impress- 
ing it  upon  others."  —  London  Art-Journal. 

"  Interesting  and  valuable  books,  written  with  philosophic 
spirit  and  sincere  feeling."  —  Sir  Charles  Eastlake,  President 
of  the  Royal  Academy^  London. 

"  Such  volumes  are  a  real  refreshment.  It  is  delightful  in 
these  prosaical  days  to  see  a  man  brimful  of  poetry;  to  be- 
hold a  man  in  earnest.  The  special  feature  which  entitles 
these  beautiful  volumes  to  notice  in  our  pages  is  the  excel- 
lent tone  in  which  sacred  subjects  are  invariably  handled." — 
London  Literary  Churchman. 

"  Mr.  Jarves's  criticism  is  generous,  genial,  and  decided  in 
its  tone;  his  views  are  broad,  comprehensive,  and  catholic." 
—  Boston  Courier. 

"  The  '  Great  Masters '  are  discussed  with  a  comprehensive- 
ness of  grasp  and  critical  ability  which  show  the  writer  not 
only  to  be  master  of  the  subject,  but  to  be  influenced  and  an- 
imated with  the  most  generous  and  elevated  sentiments."  — 
Boston  Post. 

"  An  original  and  vigorous  thinker,  as  well  as  a  forcible 
writer."  —  New  York  Times. 


8 


"  A  work  which  forms  an  epoch  in  our  art-literature."  — 

Neio  York  Herald. 

"  An  earnest,  painstaking,  graceful,  catholic  writer." —  Bos-- 
Ion  Religious  Monthly. 

"  A  classic  in  our  literature  of  art." —  Harper^s  Weekly. 

"  It  exhibits  careful  study,  critical  acumen,  and  a  taste 
formed  by  the  best  models."  —  Boston  Journal, 

"  This  work  must  win  an  eminent  place  in  the  department 
of  literature  to  which  it  is  devoted."  —  New  York  Tribune. 

"  He  treads  his  ground  with  firmness,  discretion,  thorough 
knowledge,  independence,  and  impartiality,  yet  withal  with 
an  enthusiasm  that  is  a  crowning  grace."  —  New  York  Albion. 

Descriptive  Catalogue  of  Old  Masters, 

Collected  by  James  J.  Jarves,  to  illustrate  the  His- 
tory of  Painting  from  A.  D.  1200  to  the  best  Periods 
of  Italian  Art.  8vo.  64  pp.  Riverside  Press, 
Cambridge,  1860. 

Art-Hints : 

AECHITECTURE,  SCULPTURE,  AND  PAINT- 
ING. By  James  Jackson  Jarves,  Author  of 
"  Parisian  Sights  and  French  Principles,"  "  History 
of  the  Sandwich  Islands,"  etc.    Post  8vo. 

There  are  few  subjects  connected  with  art,  in  relation  to 
its  history,  to  matter,  and  to  mind,  which  Mr.  Jarves  does 
not  touch  upon,  and  with  so  much  freshness  of  thought,  en- 
thusiasm tempered  with  judgment,  and  sensibility  to  the 
beautiful,  as  to  render  his  remarks  no  less  pleasant  to  read 
than  they  are  instructive.  .  .  .  His  remarks  evince  sound  dis- 
crimination and  good  taste.  It  is  when  we  have  such  a  book 
as  this  under  our  notice  that  we  find  most  occasion  to  regret 
our  inability,  from  want  of  space,  to  quote  from  it."  —  Lonr 
don  Art- Journal. 


4 


"  Fervent  and  useful,  clever  and  well  written.  Mr.  Jarves's 
language  displays  a  strong  nervous  structure,  that  indicates  a 
strong  thinker."  —  "America  has  at  last  produced  a  writer 
who  may  help  to  educate  her  in  art,  guide  her  infant  steps, 
and  to  point  out  the  pitfalls  that  surround  the  pilgrim  of  art." 
—  London  Athenceum. 

*'  This  is  the  only  way  in  which  it  is  worth  while  to  write 
about  art;  and  Mr.  Jarves,  founding  on  high  principles,  and 
honest  and  acute  in  applying  them,  will  be  found,  without  at 
all  rivalling  such  a  man  as  Ruskin  in  depth  or  originality, 
well  worth  the  hearing."  —  London  Spectator. 

"...  We  have  seldom,  indeed,  read  a  book  which  excited 
more  respect  for  the  author,  and  sympathj'-  for  his  opinions. 
His  criticism  is,  in  general,  at  once  refined  and  elevated  in 
spirit,  animated  by  a  thorough  and  patient  knowledge  of 
what  he  is  describing,  and,  for  the  most  part,  singularly  just 
and  sound."  —  London  Guardian. 

"  The  work  is  one  that  may  render  good  service  to  students 
in  this  country,  as  well  as  in  America.  It  is  a  suggestive,  as 
well  as  instructive  volume,  and  deals  with  the  philosophy,  as 
well  as  the  facts,  of  the  history  of  art."  —  London  Literary 
Gazette. 

"  We  commend  the  volume  for  its  pleasant  style,  its  varied 
historical  facts,  its  fresh  and  honest  criticisms,  its  rare  good 
sense,  its  interesting  analysis  of  art  in  different  countries,  its 
hopeful  and  healthy  tone,  and  the  importance  of  the  theme  to 
which  it  relates."  —  Boston  Transcript, 

"  It  does  one  good  to  fall  in  with  such  a  book  as  this, —  one 
that  shows  intimate  knowledge  of  the  subject  it  handles,  and 
is  yet  free  from  pedantry  or  pretence,  —  one  in  which  the  au- 
thor's glowing  enthusiasm  is  tempered  by  judgment  and  dis- 
cretion. From  its  earnestness  and  loving  tone,  you  might 
suppose  it  the  work  of  a  tyro;  from  its  moderation,  and  re- 
spect for  the  opinion  of  others,  it  impresses  you  with  the  belief 
that  the  writer  has  pondered  much  ere  he  gave  his  opinions 
to  the  world.  Not  that  he  is  deficient  in  boldness :  very  far 
from  it.    He  sometimes  runs  counter  to  the  general  voice, 


5 


and  —  what  is  a  far  better  token  of  moral  courage  —  he  does 
not  minister  to  national  self-love."  —  New  York  Albion, 

"  Gracefully  and  elegantly  written,  this  work  is  destined  to 
take  rank  with  those  masterly  criticisms  which  have  given 
the  name  of  Ruskin  such  a  world-wide  reputation."  —  Nm 
York  Herald. 

"  Hardly  a  page  of  this  book  but  abounds  with  thoughtful 
comment  and  valuable  suggestion."  —  New  York  Churchman, 

"  Next  after  Euskin,  we  are  disposed  to  rank  the  author  of 
*Art-Hints.'  "  —  North  American  Review, 

"  Mr.  Jarves  has  written  upon  a  subject  with  which  thought 
and  taste,  education  and  travel,  enthusiasm  and  observation, 
have  made  him  most  familiar.  He  has  written  well,  because 
with  fulness  of  knowledge  and  clearness  of  expression.  At 
times,  his  language  rises  into  eloquence;  but  it  is  always 
lucid,  nervous,  and  harmonious."  —  New  York  Times, 

"Mr.  Jarves's  views  on  art  are  as  remarkable  for  their 
calmness  and  good  sense  as  for  their  requisite  appreciation 
of  every  form  of  genuine  beauty."  —  New  York  Courier  and 
Enquirer. 

"  A  work  which  every  American  tourist  in  Europe  should 
read  carefully  before  setting  out,  and  consult  frequently  while 
among  the  art  -  collections  of  the  Old  World."  —  Godey's 
Lady^s  Magazine. 

"  A  noble  sermon  on  art."  — Christian  Examiner. 

Parisian  Sights  and  French  Principles, 

Seen  through  American  Spectacles.    First  and 
Second  Series.  12mo.  With  numerous  illustrations, 

"  Terse  and  spirited."  —  Blackwood. 

"  A  better  picture  of  Paris,  in  so  narrow  a  compass,  we 
have  never  seen."  — New  York  Courier  and  Enquirer. 


6 


"  As  a  shrewd  observer,  a  stinging  critic  of  society,  and  a 
lively  narrator,  we  have  not  seen  his  superior  for  many  a  day. 
One  of  the  most  amusing  books  of  the  time."  —  New  York 
Tribune. 

"  Without  question,  one  of  the  raciest  books  ever  written 
upon  Parisian  life  and  manners."  — Boston  Post. 

Italian  Sights  and  Papal  Principles, 

With  numerous  illustrations.  12mo. 

"  In  variety  of  style,  truth  of  description,  and  piquancy  of 
criticism,  Mr.  Jarves  has  few  competitors  among  tourists."  — 

New  York  Independent. 

"  Mr.  Jarves  combines  many  important  qualities  which  are 
essential  to  the  character  of  an  intelligent  tourist.  He  is  evi- 
dently a  person  of  education  and  refinement,  conversant  with 
the  principles  of  art,  as  well  as  familiar  with  its  chief  produc- 
tions, cherishing  an  interest  in  religious  systems,  apart  from 
their  external  ceremonies,  and  accustomed  to  carry  a  critical 
spirit  into  his  observations  of  nature  and  society.  Hence  the 
sketches  of  which  this  volume  is  composed  are  not  only  spir- 
ited, but  informing.  They  furnish  an  impressive  idea  of  the 
grandeur  and  the  glory,  and  the  degradation  and  shame,  of 
modern  Italy.  They  are  not  merely  brilliantly  colored  pict- 
ures addressed  to  the  eye,  but  pregnant  illustrations  of  pro- 
found social  truths.  As  a  writer  on  art,  Mr.  Jarves  will  well 
sustain  his  reputation  in  this  volume;  while  his  description 
of  ecclesiastical  ceremonies,  local  scenery,  and  popular  cus- 
toms, will  place  him  in  the  front  rank  of  recent  travellers."  — 
Ernie  Journal. 


GETTY  CENTER  LIBRARY 


